


King of the Sea

by airbendergal



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: F/M, Final Fantasy XII - Freeform, Fortress, Fortress: Final Fantasy, Gen, Grin - Freeform, Spin-Off, Square Enix - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-06-03 15:03:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 58,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6615181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airbendergal/pseuds/airbendergal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Following the events of Final Fantasy XII, KING OF THE SEA takes place ten years after the game. After a period of relative peace in Ivalice, a mysterious force coming from the Naldoan Sea threatens the whole world. Hard decisions must be made, the first of which is the fortification of a magical fortress. A story of sacrifice, and a choice between love and duty. KING OF THE SEA is an ode to GRIN's unfinished FFXII spin-off, FORTRESS: FINAL FANTASY."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Politicking

**CHAPTER 1: POLITICKING**

The assassin was quick, a pulsating blur rushing down the hall. The curtains suddenly swelled on the left wall. The portrait of Emperor Gramis on the right came crashing down in an irreverent din. Basch kept his eyes on the shadow, breathing heavily as he sprinted in his full suit of metal armor. His knees were getting too old for chases, he reckoned, as he heard a pop come from below. How audacious of that trespasser to infiltrate the palace during the day!

The blur turned a corner. Basch trailed him into the next passageway, but stopped in his tracks as he doubled the bend. The ceiling suddenly closed over him. The sunlight was ripped right out of the air, and in its wake were patches of light. Titanic beams raced down the sides of metal plates that made for walls, and the pungent smell of some burning fuel leaked into his helmet. He knew this room. The beating heart of the palace. The mechanical floor.

“Damn it,” he muttered, looking around helplessly. He had lost sight of the killer in the sea of pumping engines. Fat wires raced across the floor and gave off the occasional spark, and in the distance numerous magicite cells flickered in the dark like constellations. Basch took out his Tournesol—the great-sword he used to strike Vayne Solidor down—and brandished it. The hilt of his weapon began to glow and illuminated the space around him. In the darkness, it would give off light. In the Emperor’s most vulnerable times, it would always be there to guard him.

Protect the young lord. Protect Larsa.

Those words filled his heart with fire. Basch put both of his closed fists to his heart, and felt his chest surge with an overpowering energy. It boiled inside of him, filled his bones and muscles with an incessant rattling feeling—as if some monster had wanted to escape from his flesh. Then he shouted: “Immobilize!” The energy broke out in a raw starburst of green. Tongues of emerald fire shot out in all directions, passing through engines and beams and all! But no, it would not break the machines. It would only need to break one person. In the distance there was a sharp scream of pain, and then a loud, echoing thud. Basch grinned under his helmet, for he had done the breaking.

Basch broke into a clumsy sprint, head still spinning from conjuring the magic. He gripped the Tournesol and sped towards the sound. He passed rows of chugging contraptions and a braved through a cloud of heavy steam. A figure on the ground was closing in: a teenager, probably in his later years! He was all dressed in black, paralyzed in a very awkward fetal position. He looked like a figurine that had fallen off a shelf. His arms and legs were as hard as stone, but his face could still move, and more importantly, talk. Perhaps he could explain why he was holding a knife, and why the tip of it was sprinkled with some red. 

Basch sheathed his sword, bent down, and grabbed the assassin by his long hair. He pulled him up by his locks so that they could see eye-to-eye. “Fearless,” Basch commended in a low voice. His voice muffled as he spoke through his helmet. “And reckless. If you were a good assassin, you would have come here during the night.” He scraped his eyes down the assassin’s outfit. It was a light, leather armor of the darkest black he’d ever seen. 

“Who sent you here?” Basch continued. The look on the teen’s face seemed rattled, but the man did not speak. “Young men like you shouldn’t be out killing royalty. You should be in the Academy. You should be finding a woman to settle down with. We live in a time of peace, and it is my sole duty to keep it that way.”

“Guh—” The assassin began. “Gluh!”

The teen’s stomach was met with a hard punch. 

“Are you mute, boy? Speak!” Basch ordered. He gripped the assassin’s hair tighter, so hard it made the young man squeal and gurgle out blood. “You have just attempted to kill the Emperor of Archadia! Have you no bearing on the implication of your actions? These such activities are punishable by death!”

“Buh…Buhl…” The teenager drawled through crimson teeth.

Basch’s lips mimicked the cutthroat’s muttering. “Buh…Buhl…You are not making sense!” 

“Bulth….” Now, his eyes were flickering, and he was growing pale. 

“Stay sharp.” Basch knew the look in the young man’s eyes. It was the same sort of slipping of a dying soldier. He carefully placed the killer down with a clunk and patted his body. Perhaps he had a deep wound—or perhaps he had broken one of his ribs. The man turned the teen over and looked at his back. Sticking out from his left side was some sort of metal stick, and it looked painfully planted into his skin. Perhaps the young killer had impaled himself from the blast. Basch couldn’t help but feel responsible, but he had no time for pity. “Stay sharp, you fool.” 

Three imperial gunmen entered the floor, rifles cocked and ready. “Judge Gabranth!” 

Basch looked behind him. They were standing ready for orders. 

“How is the emperor?” Judge Gabranth asked worriedly. “Is he hurt?” 

“Just a minor cut on the right arm, sir,” answered the forward most gun-man. 

That outraged Basch. “Just a minor cut, you say? They said this assassin was this—” and he showed them the exact distance using his thumb and pointer finger, “—close to cutting down Emperor Larsa. I leave him with you for seven minutes, and he is almost killed! Who was in charge?” 

The soldiers dared not make eye contact with Judge Gabranth, or each other. A susurrus passed between them. 

“Who was in charge!?” Gabranth yelled with an edge sharper than steel. 

“My lord!” One soldier took a step forward, and bowed lowly. “Forgive me, my lord!” 

“Unforgivable, soldier.” Basch grabbed the young assassin and callously threw him before the gunmen’s feet. “Bring this killer to the dungeons. Tend to his wounds and chain him. We are to have him interrogated there. After, go to Judge Zargabaath and deposit your arms and armor. This is your last day as an Imperial Gunner. Consider this mercy.” 

“Thank you, my lord!” The responsible gunman replied with a lower bow. 

The three gunmen grappled the assassin by his stone-hard limbs and spirited him away from the mechanical floor. Their metal armor clinked away into the distance, and the sound of electric sparks running across the generators returned in the wake of the commotion. 

Basch sighed and shook his head. “To another day,” he said, raising an imaginary cup.

It was eleven o’clock in the morning. 

 

* * * *

Basch fon Ronsenburg was a decorated war veteran. He served in the Dalmascan army for almost seven years, after his homeland of Landis was invaded and occupied by the Archadian Empire. Basch fon Ronsenburg rose to the rank of captain only after three years—something quite unheard of in such military frameworks. His twin brother, Noah fon Ronsenburg stayed in their homeland of Landis, and with the help of his exceptional fighting skills, rose to the rank of Archadian Judge. After fifteen years of service, he had earned his place in Archadia’s elite circle of judges—the supreme commanders of the Archadian military and the guardians of the noble House Solidor—and was addressed by the name Judge Gabranth. 

During the 704 Valendian calendar, the empire of Archadia invaded Dalmasca. Basch fon Ronsenburg defended his new homeland on the frontlines in Nalbina Fortress. It was a small but hardy point of entry which but kept the Archadian armada from advancing into Dalmascan territory. Nalbina fell like a house of cards, and Archadia continued its advance towards the Dalmascan capital of Rabanastre. Noah fon Ronsenburg assassinated King Raminas of Dalmasca in the Rabanastran royal palace, and framed Basch for the killing. Being his identical twin, Noah got away with the killing. Basch was then arrested and brought underground for two years. The sky pirates Balthier, Fran and Vaan then liberated him in the Nalbina Underground. 

Basch served a year in the rebellion against the Empire, working with Princess Ashe and the sky pirates. Their connections and interactions with Lord Larsa Solidor of Archadia and Lord Al-Cid Margrace of Rozarria helped settle issues within the feud. Unfortunately, it was not enough to stop the bloodlust of Lord Vayne Solidor—heir to the Archadian throne, who murdered his father and became Emperor or Archadia for a mere three months. Vayne was swayed by power. He attempted to reach the level of godhood and created The Bahamut, a weapon of mass destruction. During the final battle with Vayne, Judge Gabranth died protecting his honor and Lord Larsa. During his final moments, Noah requested his twin brother to continue protecting the young lord and the good of the Empire. 

Basch took possession of Noah’s armor and title. No one but Emperor Larsa, Queen Ashe, and the sky pirates Balthier, Fran, Penelo and Vaan, knew about the switch. Basch continued to serve as Judge Gabranth for many years. Ten years have passed since the great battle. 

 

* * * * 

Judge Gabranth entered the emperor’s study cautiously. He was anxious, but more than that, ashamed. He could not show his face to Larsa, not after the breach in security. Gabranth could already imagine how frightened the emperor must have felt, and how powerless the ruler must have been without a judge by his side. An assassin in the throne room! What madness! His honor had been crushed! He would ask for pardon, and if necessary, answer to the dire consequences. 

To his surprise, His Excellency was on his desk, signing some documents—occasionally leaning back to the scribe and asking clarifications as to what he had scrawled on the parchment. It was as if nothing had happened, as if almost getting killed was the most natural thing in the world! 

Judge Gabranth felt his ears hot with guilt. “My lord.” 

The emperor stopped writing. Larsa looked up from his papers, and looked at the judge inquisitively. “What’s the matter, Gabranth? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”  
His nonchalant reaction seemed to worsen the matter. Was Lord Larsa being sarcastic?

Gabranth bowed lowly. He could not bear to look Larsa straight in the eye. “Emperor, I take full responsibility for what happened this morning…” And he stopped, expecting a good shouting or some other emperor-like condemnation. But Larsa did not speak. It seemed no one did today. “I shan’t leave you with those gunmen alone again. They are ill-experienced. Forgive me, sire.” 

“Sir, if you would give us a minute,” Larsa said, addressing the scribe. 

“Very good, my lord,” the scribe replied, sliding out of the study. 

“Emperor Larsa, forgive me, I—”

“—That’s enough sorrow for now, Basch.” 

Basch looked up, and removed his helmet. Now he could see Larsa in full clarity. The emperor was seated in a most regal way—as if posing for a portrait—square shoulders exuding authority and deep blue eyes beaming attentiveness. In this instance, however, his visage gave way to something quite tender. “Lord Larsa…I…”  
“It is dangerous to talk about assassinations in front of other court members.” 

“My lord, this one harmed you,” Basch worried, looking to the ripped sleeve of the emperor. 

Larsa looked down to his cut. He covered it with his left hand. It did sting, but no one was to know. “A flesh wound. Nothing more. And you’re not to speak of it to anyone in the palace.” 

Basch hung his head. How could he keep such a big deal a secret?

“This is not only for me. Imagine how unsafe the other staff would feel if they realize there was an incident. They’d be performing their duties in fear. We don’t need that right now. I am not ignorant, Basch. I am fully aware of the threats on my life. Four assassins have attempted to kill me in the last ten years, two of which took place in this very palace. If there is anyone to be concerned the most, it should be me. Yet I sit here, signing papers. You worry.”

“I always worry, my lord. You are the emperor.” 

“And you are my friend. I am telling you, as a friend, that you should not fear leaving my side. I’m fully capable of protecting myself. I know how to use a sword,” the emperor suddenly chuckled, then immediately collected himself. A trait he had picked up in the last few years. “Basch, there are more important things to be dealt with. For example, these signatories. And those old bastards later in the afternoon who pry into these signatories.” 

“The senate, your excellency,” Basch corrected, a bit annoyed. 

He knew Larsa and the senate hated each other some days, and tolerated each other on most. Certain policies would take months to draft, because of conflicting interests. Basch hated politics, but was impressed on how well Emperor Larsa could navigate such dicey waters. The man had seen how the once child-emperor had matured into a man worthy of carrying the Solidor name. He had seen how the young lord had learned the Game fast. He realized how the senate hated Larsa for being a quick learner, yet everyone still kept all sorts of polite formalities when dealing with each other. Archadians were so non-confrontational and passive-aggressive about many matters. If they were Landisians, the problems would have been quickly resolved by duel! 

“Would you dine with me Basch? ‘Tis almost luncheon,” Larsa said, tucking the papers into a drawer. 

Emperor Larsa rose from his seat, gathering the train of his robe under his heavy, wooden chair. He strode towards Basch and beamed him an ambivalent smile. The two of them would have stood at the same height, were it not for the tall diadem that weighed down on the emperor’s head. Basch put back on his helmet, and then held out his arm for his master to hold. The man gracefully declined. Instead, Larsa gently pushed the judge’s metal arm down, strode forward towards the door and opened it for the both of them. 

 

* * * *

 

“I would like to turn your attention to the third section of this bill, my lords.” 

There was the flipping sound of pages, a hundred of them all beating like a flock of birds. Emperor Larsa squinted, looking at the fine print on the document. The ink on his paper had been smeared, but he was too tired to complain. He placed the documents down and listened attentively to the senator, who would be reading the section out loud. 

“Section Three of Imperial Bill Five-Oh-Four-Five!” declared Chancellor Drace. “Eligibility of half-castes in regards to applying for a gentry status. The individual would be allowed to apply for a gentry’s status, and would be granted the following rights resulting in that status. First, the individual would be allowed to hold estate in the districts of Nilbasse, Trant, Molberry and Rienna. Second, the individual would be allowed to defend himself in court without going through the previous processes as prescribed by Imperial Law Oh-Seven-Oh-Nine. Third, in regards with marriage to another full-gentry, the properties would be allowed to transfer to the half-gentry in case of the pure full-gentry’s death—”

“I will have to stop you right there, Senator Drace,” cut in another senator. All heads turned to a man with a long, braided beard. His name was Senator Granch, and he was stroking his chin wildly. “Since when did that third bullet get pass the fifth reading? I recalled a number of senators voting against such matter.” 

“Your numbers are mistaken. The senate was in favor of this, six-to-five.” 

“Which means someone must have switched his vote.” 

“I am the one, Senator Granch.”

“Chancellor Drace, I suspect you have a good rationale for making such a decision! This is madness! We cannot agree to such matters. If you are to open this window of opportunity to the half-castes, then there would be more bad consequences than good!”

“Such as?”

“The rise of murder charges, your honors.”

Emperor Larsa spoke up. “Senator Granch, since when has murder been connected to granting half-castes rights on properties?” 

Granch beamed irritated eyes at the emperor. He gritted his teeth. “My lord, a good friend of mine was killed in his flat last month. He was married to a half-caste, but they did not have children. Him and his wife were the only two people in the flat during that evening. When he died, his properties could not be transferred to the wife, and his assets were frozen by the central bank. Curiously enough, his wife is one of the prime petitioners of this bill. Look!”

Emperor Larsa grimaced. He picked up his copy of the bill and furiously flipped to the last page, to where all the signatures were. “Signed by a certain Charlotte Vint,” he muttered and looked back up at Senator Granch. The old man was nodding. “Are you saying that Mrs. Charlotte Vint was responsible for her husband’s death, and that she’s pushing for this bill to retrieve all her husband’s frozen assets?” 

“You pulled the words right out of my mouth, Your Excellency!” Granch exclaimed, seemingly triumphant.

“That is a blatant accusation. There is no such proof,” Larsa retorted, folding his arms. “Perhaps you are forgetting that these half-castes have been pushing for a gentry status for decades now. If this government is to function for the common good, then will this bill not be the best for all? After all, the only caveat is that one of their parents does not belong to Archadian aristocracy. They still have, to some degree, noble blood. Can they not be excused for how they were born?”

“When you give people excuses, they are bound to abuse it,” Granch spat. 

“Gentlemen, enough, please,” Chancellor Drace said calmly. But Senator Granch looked so furious, he could have set anything on fire by just looking at it. “Granch, say your peace.”

“Yes, I would like to say that if this bill is passed, we would be letting cockroaches into our city. They would be breeding even more half-castes! This bill would be challenging the system we have taken so long to uphold,” Granch explained, eyes scanning the senate. He saw their conflicted looks. He then faced Emperor Larsa, and a capricious glint flickered in the senator’s his eye. “Of course, we cannot blame His Excellency for supporting such peasant sentiments. He has had much experience with mingling with outsider trash in the past.” 

Larsa’s eyes shot open and he almost flew off from his seat. “Excuse me?”

“With all due respect, Excellency, you must not let your sentiments cloud your judgment on this matter. The senate knows of your dealings with the sky pirates and the Dalmascan insurgents many years ago. We have been kind to turn a blind eye to these for the past decade, but we will not allow you to bring such ideologies into our society.”

Larsa felt defeated for a second. The way Granch said it but only reaffirmed his beliefs: Archadia knew everything about his past, and if he were to do anything to radically change the society, his questionable—not to mention personal!—past would be exposed. He would dare not walk that path. The emperor could have called Granch out with a certain ‘ad hominem!’, but he knew the senator’s ears would not hear any opinion but their own. “Senator, the half-castes have already reached the boiling point. It will not be long before we get burnt. They have already caused a ruckus in Old Archades. Additionally, many gentry are in favor of the bill. This issue has taken four months to reach the fifth reading. One cannot callously toss it away. If the senate wishes, we will look through it for another meeting.” 

“You all but delay this futile cause. I am going to file an official inquiry on the Vint case tomorrow, and will present to you the findings in a few weeks, your honors.”

Larsa massaged his temples. “This bickering will get us nowhere. I call for a recess.” 

The doors were opened. The senators rose from their seats and exited the chamber with much muttering and hissing. Everyone except for Chancellor Drace and Emperor Larsa were left inside the room. 

“Progress, my lord,” Drace smiled wearily. He cupped Larsa’s square shoulder.

“Yes, it would have gone much faster without Granch’s incessant buzzing,” Larsa sneered, taking a kerchief out of his pocket and dabbing his forehead. The skin under his diadem was exceptionally sweaty. The man’s tone softened. “Thank you for switching your vote, Drace. I’m sure your sister would be proud.”

“My sister devoted her entire life to your cause, Excellency. I would do the same.”

“Thank you,” was the only thing Larsa said, but wished he could say much more. 

“After the recess, there is one more thing we have to discuss before the session adjourns.”

“What is it?” 

“The issue you’ve been avoiding for too long.” 

Emperor Larsa gulped. He feared this day would come. 

 


	2. Whispers of Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emperor Larsa must make a choice that would dictate the future of the Solidor Line.  
> Basch must make a choice to listen or to reject a certain sky pirate's piece of advice.

**CHAPTER 2: WHISPERS OF ICE**

The senate chambers suddenly turned cold once the senators started streaming in. All men appeared well rested, including Senator Granch, who was chatting and chuckling with a fellow senator named Lebleau. 

Emperor Larsa drummed his fingers impatiently on his seat’s armrest. His eyes were focused on Senator Lebleau—the most dangerous man in the room. “The senator of action”, as everyone liked to call him. Lebleau was a pragmatic individual, who never rested until his plans were materialized. Larsa agreed to most of the senator’s diplomacies, for they seemed all in good faith and were all very reasonable, however there was one proposition the emperor would never agree too. 

“Your Excellency, it is time we bring up the most pressing matter of the day,” Lebleau said, taking out a thin document from one of his files. “Please take out the yellow document, your honors.” 

Larsa hesitantly pinched out his copy from the envelope as though it had just come out of the hearth. He scanned the title and a cold knot formed in his stomach. The man flipped to the second page and saw pictures of different women, all of which his eyes tried to avoid. He forced himself to see them only as blurs. 

“My lord, it is time we talked about the future of the Solidor line. We have avoided this topic for too long. You were due for marriage two years ago, when you turned twenty,” Lebleau reminded the senate. “For reasons we cannot comprehend, you have managed to violate the agreement for twenty-one months. The women have been waiting for a reply for more than a year now.”

“Senators, we have more important matters to attend to…” Larsa’s voice went faint as questioning glares turned to him and threatened to swallow him alive. The emperor knew he had used the same excuse a million times over, and that those words could not save him this time around. 

“Sire, this is the most important personal matter you would have to attend to. You are the last remaining member of House Solidor. I do not mean to be morbid, but if you are to die without an heir, Archadia would fall into civil war. Already, there have been attempts on your life, the fourth of which happened eleven o’clock this morning.”

Emperor Larsa looked away. He understood the circumstances that revolved around his current state of life, but was not ready for any sort of commitment. He wished that if he were to love a woman, then he would love her with the utmost purity and sincerity. He wanted to be with a woman whom he could be himself around—to be in a position where he did not have to put on masks. “Who are the candidates, senator?” he asked. 

“On the top left—that is the Duchess of Moorabella. Thirty-two years old. She has great love for cockatrice, and has knowledge on spices. Having connections with their family would increase our leverage in Jylland, your grace. Their family monopolizes the spice trade in West Ordalia and they have many connecti—” 

“—Too old,” Larsa cut in with a suppressed laugh. He lowered the document and grinned sarcastically at Lebleau. “She might be past the age of child-bearing.” 

A few senators guffawed in their seats in agreement. 

Lebleau nodded. “Well, if you are looking for a younger woman, you should consider the next candidate. Princess Serani of Rozarria. She is Lord Al-Cid Margrace’s youngest sister. Nineteen years of age. She is the eighteenth daughter of Emperor Al-Zedir. In my humble opinion, she is the best bet. This marriage would quell all doubts about Archadia and Rozarria. This arrangement will also grant us opportunities to tap into the most powerful mining industry in the world.” 

The emperor looked into the portrait, quite intrigued. Al-Cid had mentioned his younger sister a few times in the past, but Larsa never knew how she looked like. To his surprise, the only facial feature she shared with her brother was her strong, hooknose. She looked as if she had never seen the outside world, and her eyes gave way to some sort of sadness. “Hmm…” he drawled, looking at the princess’ picture. It made him pity her. “Who else is on the list?” 

“The last is Queen Ashelia of Dalmasca, your grace.” 

Larsa hung his head. “Queen Ashe? Is this some sort of jest?” It was the craziest thing he had heard—ever! “Would she even agree to this sort of arrangement? It would be like putting Dalmasca back in the hands of the Empire. ‘Tis like we are ripping open a wound long healed!” 

“It was an option to consider,” Lebleau explained, then bit his lip. “Your grace, Queen Ashelia has never remarried after her late husband’s passing. It has been twelve years. We have gotten word she is already considering her options for a new partner. Her nation is becoming one of the major economic players in modern petrol politics. If we were to have a handle in those sort of affairs, Archadia and Dalmasca combined would dominate the petrol trade.”

“There would be a backlash, senator. The Dalmascan people would rise up in protest. And where would the Queen stay? It would be ill-advised to force her to leave her land. She deserves…” The emperor’s voice trailed away but again. For a moment, he could imagine him and Ashe together. She was a dear friend and a trusted ally, but the idea of leashing a country long freed from Archadia’s rule was insanity. “…She deserves much better than this. We do not need petrol. Archadia can thrive off its own resources, and our military is still quite robust—fully capable of defending those resources.”

“Your Excellency, our military has shrank by twenty percent in the last decade,” Granch spoke. “During the time of Emperor Gramis, our military might was at par with Rozarria. Our weapons technology industry has fallen apart ever since the closure of the Draklor Laboratories. Each year, we reduce a percentage of military expenditure on the annual budget. Now, we are but a shadow of our once great force.” 

“Military force at that time was necessary,” Larsa reminded them, pointing to the ceiling. “Now is a time of peace, and I intend to keep it that way.” 

“A ruler must always be ready for war,” Chancellor Drace advised gently. 

“What if there is to be another war, sire?” asked Granch. “What would happen if one day we wake up and realize that the Rozarrian Empire—for example—laid siege to the entire Tchita Uplands? What if Balfonheim was suddenly breached by sky pirate threats? What are we to do?”

Granch’s unthinkable scenarios played in Larsa’s head. He was then brought back to the atrocity of the Archadian-Rozarrian war. Images of the carnage came in quick, consecutive flashes: the Bahamut flying over Rabanastre’s paling, a Dalmascan destroyer ship exploding into a cloud of nethicite energy, the faces of the dead soldiers, and finally the disfigured, burnt body of his brother. Emperor Larsa promised himself that he would be the last to see another soldier die. “Enough,” Larsa ordered, and with a weak voice, he repeated. “Enough. I have heard and understood what needs to be done. An alliance will further our cause of peace.”

“Good. Now, do you have any preference, sire?” asked Lebleau as he stared down into his paper. All senators did the same, and began pointing at the pictures and convening with each other, as if they were picking their own choice of wife. 

Larsa’s eyes hovered over Ashe. Her features were more mature and sharper than he remembered. Still, she had that determined look in her eyes—a battle-hardened gazed cradled with purity of intention. She was beautiful inside and out, but he could never be for her. Perhaps under different circumstances. Perhaps in another life, he thought. He could not afford the ire of Dalmasca and her people once again. “Send a message to Emperor Al-Zedir. Tell him I would be interested in seeing his daughter,” Larsa said with some degree of uncertainty. 

“A fine choice,” Lebleau commended. “A practical one, as well.”

‘Practical’, Larsa thought. The word seemed so utilitarian! He didn’t even know where to start. Did that picture accurately represent Princess Serani’s personality? Would she be docile or controlling? Did she speak the common tongue? How would she react to Archadian politics? He could not imagine himself living with a complete stranger! 

“My lord?” a voice came out of nowhere.

Larsa snapped out of his daze. “Apologies,” he said, shaking his head. “Err…when will I be able to see Princess Serani?” 

“The message would take some time to reach Ambervale. The earliest we could bring her here is in two weeks time,” Lebleau smiled. “My lord, there is no turning back from this. If we are to send Emperor Al-Zedir your letter, he would assume you are willing to wed his daughter.”

Larsa cringed. “I…I…” He brought the document up to his face, hoping to hide the fact that he was blushing profusely. He took some time to look at the picture of the Rozarrian princess. He came to convince himself that Serani had her own sort of innocent beauty. Perhaps she would not be the disaster he feared. But was this woman to be the next empress of Archadia? Would she be the one to bear his children? The thought of it all made his stomach turn!

“Alright,” the emperor agreed. He felt as if he had sold his soul to the devil—in this case, Senator Lebleau. “Send the message to Rozarria within three days.”

“Very good, my lord,” replied Lebleau, bowing lightly. He looked around and saw that the senators around him were smiling and nodding. “It seems we are finished for today, and for the week.” 

There was a sinking feeling within Larsa’s chest. “Yes,” he noted sadly. 

“The session is now adjourned,” Chancellor Drace declared with a light smash of the gavel. “A pleasant week-end to you, my lords.” 

 

* * * * 

 

Judge Gabranth descended the stairwell. Deeper into the dungeons he went, traversing through rows of sinister smelling cells. The sounds of mice-speak and dripping water resonated throughout the prison. He was pleasantly surprised to note that no one had occupied the execution chamber for months (Emperor Larsa was against capital punishment), and that no blood-curdling screams had bubbled in the torture chamber. The judge reached a pit—a seemingly endless one—where four chains reached down into the abyss. There was a guard stationed by a lever. Gabranth approached the man and commanded him, “Reel number four.” 

At once the lever was pulled downwards, and the screeching of some mechanical contraption broke into song. Chain number four shortened and hoisted up what looked like an oversized birdcage. Chained inside of it was a figure, which Gabranth supposed was the assassin. “Leave us, sir,” he instructed the guard.

The guard nodded and left the pit area. Now Gabranth was alone with the killer, and the judge was ready to drown the assassin in questions. “Who sent you here?” 

To the judge’s surprise, the shadow broke into a mad laugh and began wriggling in its shackles. Its voice was loud and strong, and more familiar than he had expected. “You’d better get your eyes checked, old man,” said what seemed to be killer, dropping effortlessly out of its chains. “You wouldn’t be able to tell Queen Ashe apart from a cactoid.” 

“Balthier?” The judge removed his helmet and peered closer. It was he, gods be damned! “You sky pirate! Where is the assassin? Is he working with you?”

“Calm, captain,” Balthier grinned, capering towards the edge of the cage. He clasped the bars with his hands and peeked his face through the space between them. “The boy is with me—sort of.” 

“Sort of?” repeated Basch with a passionate fury. “So you plotted to attack the emperor? I could have you executed on the spot!” 

“Your master is not one for executions, if I remember correctly,” the sky pirate rebutted promptly. “And it was only to get your attention. Of course, his highness should not be seen conniving with a sky pirate, oh no! Filth like me would have to work behind the scenes—in dark, slimy, and smelly shitholes like this, for example. Mind you, this place doesn’t smell like roses.” 

“Lord Larsa did not have to shed blood,” Basch stated firmly. “Now give me a good reason not to have you tortured.”

“Ice.”

“Ice? What in Faram’s name are you blabbering about?” 

“I’m building up the story, captain. You see, I’ve been on a quest to find a certain magical item. They call it the ‘Cache of Glabados’. Does that name ring a bell?” But seeing as Basch was unresponsive, Balthier continued. “Anyway, this cache is worth more than all the gold in the world combined. According to legend, it’s got the power to bring its user forward or backward in time.”

“Time magick—I’ve seen that before. We use it to slow down enemies and make haste our attacks. Penelo used to do it all the time.” 

“Oh no, captain. This is unheard of. I’m talking up ‘til a thousand years into the past or into the future. The ability to change the world we live in today. Perhaps we could prevent Ivalice from war’s horrors. Perhaps there would be a way to change the fate of your homeland of Landis.” 

Basch paused for a moment. “Landis…?” And he thought of his mother, and Noah. “No, toying with the time stream is like begging for death. A single misdeed in the timeline could cause a devastating domino effect.” 

“True!” Balthier agreed casually with a hunch of his shoulders. “The cache is none of the empire’s concern. However, I came here to warn you of something that is. Remember that piece of the Kerwon continent under Archadia’s banner? Yes, that piece of land that used to be Landis. Well, there is something quite fishy going on the coastline.”

“How is this related to your cache?”

“The cache was rumored to be found in that very fortress. Fran and I did some tomb raiding. Aside from running into numerous booby-traps, something really caught our eye, you see,” Balthier explained, swinging the cage closer to Basch. Now the pirate was moving back and forth like a pendulum, the sound of his voice snatching away from time to time. “Ice, captain! A sliver of ice stretching across the coastline—sixteen kilometers long.” 

“It’s almost winter, such weather disturbance is expected,” Basch attemped to rationalized, but at the back of his mind something was wrong. He had never heard of such a phenomenon happening in Landis. 

“The Naldoan Sea turning into a frozen wasteland? Good captain, this has nothing to do with weather patterns. There is something mysterious brewing within the depths of those waters. There’s magic involved, most certainly. Perhaps a disturbance of the jads.”

“Magicite? Nethicite? No. No such power could cause a widespread permafrost.”

“If you don’t believe me, I understand. A judge magister would never be wise to trust a sky pirate like me. It’s not like I’ve saved your ass a couple of times in the past, hmm?” Balthier smirked cheekily. “If you want proof of the hoarfrost, I suggest you go there yourself. However, you can’t take any airships with you, I’m afraid. No gloss-air rings work well in the jagds.” 

Too much doubt clouded Basch’s mind. Real or not, a threat like this could jeopardize Archadian sovereignty, and become a menace to the entire continent of Kerwon. “Balthier, if what you are saying is true, Emperor Larsa must hear about it. I will talk to him about it in the morrow.”

“That’s a good man. A faithful dog to his master,” Balthier grinned. “Now, if you don’t mind, Basch, I’d want to get out of this shithole. Have any extra keys on you, hmm?”

Basch growled. He hated how much Balthier still struck a chord with him. “Don’t speak to anyone of this,” the judge dictated, patting his pockets. He managed to take out a key. “If anyone is to ask, the story is: I sent you crashing to your impendent doom. You’re a dead man again, Balthier, and don’t you forget it.”

The judge floundered to the lever, pressed some buttons on the panel board where it was mounted, and finally inserted the key in a hole just below the treadle. Balthier’s cage clicked open, and he kicked the door open. The sky pirate leaped out and landed squarely on the space next to Basch. 

“You haven’t changed.” Balthier fixed his cuffs and patted the dirt off his hands. His lips curved into a smile, as if he had suddenly remembered a sweet memory. “Tell me, Basch: do you still think of her?” 

The question took Basch by surprise. The words came before he even had time to think about it. “Always. Never for a moment have I stopped thinking about her.”

“There is a possibility you may see the queen more often,” Balthier told his friend. The sky pirate began his ascent up a flight of steps.

“How?” Basch involuntarily stepped forward as the buccaneer took another step back. “Wait, Balthier. Don’t leave.”

Balthier chuckled at the thought of Basch’s helplessness. His look was that of a sad puppy. “There are rumors that Lady Ashe is open to the possibility of marriage to a certain Archadian emperor.”

“What?” Basch asked, in a voice louder than he expected. 

“Of course, that is only if Larsa chooses her. I’m sure there are hundreds of women all fighting to win his affection,” Balthier said, now returning to Basch. The pirate cupped the judge’s shoulder and leaned into his ear. “Tell me, captain: how far are you willing to go to protect them?”

“I would die for them,” Basch stated, his gaze fearless and unwavering. 

The two had a glaring match for quite some time until the sound of metal footsteps broke their gazes. Balthier quickly gamboled to the edge of the dais, where his cage still swung. He climbed over the railings and hung over the abyssal pit. “Well, that’s my cue. If you ever need me to save your ass again, just scream my name. I’ll be there quicker than you could say—yoops—!”

There was a sudden, banshee-like screech. Basch’s eyes dropped all too suddenly. It didn’t take him long to realize Balthier had disappeared down the black tunnel. The chain unfurled wildly. There was a loud snapping noise, and the clamor ended with an echoing clatter. 

Basch quickly regained his metal facade as a group of Imperial swordsmen came marching in. “Judge Gabranth?” asked the tallest man in the group. “The killer?” 

The answer was swift: “I sent him crashing to his impendent doom.”


	3. Vagrants from the Valley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dalmasca. Ten years later, Queen Ashelia still laments.  
> A group of Landisians seek refuge in Rabanastre.

**CHAPTER 3: VAGRANTS FROM THE VALLEY**

"Blessed, we pray for the soul of your dutiful servant, that in his earthly life he hath served you well..."

The bishop let down a long censer and swung it. The vessel dipped forward and shifted back, releasing thick billows of incense into the air. The cacophonous sound of the priests chanting all at once, and the ghostly pealing of the bells did all but make her happy. Exactly eleven years ago, her husband died and her country was invaded. Today she was dressed in all black—the same dress she had worn to his funeral. It choked her in some parts of her body, but she insisted to wear it.

"Queen Ashelia," began the bishop, rising from his prostate position. "Any words?"

Ashe looked blankly at him for a moment. There were no words, only tears in her eyes. "My lord husband…was a…a…" she stuttered, scrambling to find some adjective that could have encompassed his whole person. "…selfless man. He…"

The bishop bowed lightly, feeling the queen could continue no further. "Brothers in Faram, we must live a life of love. It has been ten years since the liberation of Dalmasca, and yet we still feel the scars of the Archdian-Rozarrian war. I am not asking you to forget, but to forgive. We must look towards a better tomorrow—towards a future where we may walk in peace with those who have hurt us."

The priests behind Ashe nodded at each other in agreement.

"Queen Ashelia, you may now bless the cenotaph," instructed the bishop.

Ashe moved forward and up to the cenotaph. Before her rose a large, black marble tombstone, surrounded by a moat of galbana lilies so thick it made the queen look as if she was walking on fire. She picked her footing through the flowers and touched the black slab. She felt over the gilded carvings that spelled out his name: Rasler Helios Nabradia. She glided her fingers over each letter, feeling it as if it was his skin.

"May the blessing of god guide your return to the Maker's bossom. Faram." Ashe muttered under suppressed quivers. A tingling sensation rose up her nose. She was ready to cry.

The bishop dipped a palm leaf into a bucket of holy water and sprinkled it across the tombstone. The man passed the leaf to Ashe, and she also wetted the slab. The drops of water ran down Rasler's cenotaph like raindrops on a glass.

It was a stormy night—the night he died, she remembered.

* * * * *

The ten years after the Archadian-Rozarrian war were kind to her, at the least. Queen Ashelia had no problem liberating her country from Archadia's rule after the death of Vayne Solidor. Emperor Larsa was quick to give Dalmasca freedom, despite many voices against the matter. The Archadian military had withdrawn all its forces in six months—all its bases across the Estersand, Westersand, and Giza Plains were demolished.

The first three years, however, had some economic repercussions. Without Archadian support, Dalmasca plummeted into an economic depression. The country then turned to the aid of Bhujerba, which granted Dalmasca a hefty loan—that they used to develop the petrol industry that Rozarria had abandoned in the Urutan-Yensa. On the fourth year after liberation, Dalmasca began its ascent as one of the major players in petrol politics, lagging only behind the Rozarrian Empire. There were trade agreements between Rozarria and Dalmasca. Lord Al-Cid Margrace's hand in the petrol trade increased Dalmasca's leverage in the economic sphere. Meanwhile, Archadia's economic passivity caused its trading to plateau. However, Dalmasca still continued to trade livestock and metal with Archadia.

Queen Ashelia had no hopes of remarrying after Rasler's passing. She still felt very attached to him. Many times she would see her late husband's ghost wandering the halls of the palace. Many times, too, she claimed to have seen the ghost of Vayne Solidor traversing the same halls. The queen never told anyone about the supernatural occurrences, fearing they would call her mad. She busied herself with building Dalmasca's economy and international ties. Once in a while she would entertain numerous wedding propositions—coming from different princes around the world, including Lord Margrace himself. Ashe laughed at the thought of her wedding Al-Cid, for she could not keep up to his fast-paced and daring lifestyle. She was surprised to hear that Emperor Larsa—back at that time, 20—was now looking for a wife. She had always remembered him as a young boy, at most a teenager. They had not seen each other for six years, but had always kept in close correspondence. She, too, laughed at the thought of wedding Emperor Larsa, for he was too young, and too pure for the world.

She would continue to serve Dalmasca in the best way she could. She would wait until the time was right for her to remarry. Though, there was some voice at the back of her head wishing it would come sooner.

* * * * *

"Queen Ashelia, my apologies for disturbing you. There's been trouble in the South Gate."

"The South Gate?" Ashe asked, looking up from her steaming cup of tea. She drummed her fingers anxiously on the porcelain. Deciding it was something worth looking into, she stood up and followed the soldier out of her study. "What is the problem?"

"My men have given me word that a group of refugees have come from the South," explained the soldier. He was marching at a quick pace, and Ashe found it quite hard to catch up with him in her heels. "We have no idea where they came from, but they are causing a ruckus."

"Calm," she told the soldier, meaning to say, slow down. The guard glided into a stop and looked at the queen attentively. "Are they nomads from Giza?"

"It does not seem so, Queen Ashelia."

"Are they carrying any weapons?"

The soldier shook his head. "They have a few carts and three chocobos, according to reports. Shall we deny them entry, your grace?"

"I would want to see them first," Ashe stated, staring out the window. From her place, she could see the inner face of the South Gate—and the ruins of Bahamut looming the distance.

Queen Ashelia traveled by carriage to the South Gate. A few guards escorted her up to the parapets of the South Gate, where she could see beyond the wall. Below her, she could spot a conglomeration of people getting rowdy with the guards. Forty heads moved around like an army of ants. They shouted and slurred in a familiar, foreign accent. Ashe's eyes widened. "They are Archadians."

"Your orders, highness?"

"We must first understand their reason for coming here. Let me speak to one of them. Allow that person entry into Rabanastre," she said, scanning the sea of heads below. She saw men, and women, and children, and their pets. There were three chocobos and two large carts filled to the brim with bags and sleeping rolls.

There was sudden rumble beneath the queen. The South Gate creaked open, and a solitary figure emerged from the head of the crowd. Ashe's eyes followed the figure as it crossed through the gateway, and found its way to the parapets by means of a lift. The queen's heart beat a bit faster when she realized it was a woman, no older than she was—and she was with child.

"Queen Ashelia, it is an honor. I am Talin fon Hedenburg," the pregnant woman greeted with a curtsy. The bulge of her belly attracted Ashe's eyes—and she swore the thing would burst at any moment.

The queen kept her eyes on the refugee's stomach. "Where have you come from, Talin?" Ashe asked, though it was obvious in the way she spoke that she was from Archadia.

"We're fisher-folk from Landis, your grace."

Ashe's eyes widened. She remembered her journey to Bur-Omisace many years ago. The holy mountain had brushed the border of Landis, and the trip to there was no less than merciless. "Landis? That is a week's journey from here on foot. Why have you come so far?"

"Queen Ashe, we seek refuge in your city. Landis has fallen into a state of calamity. The Landisian coast has frozen over—our ships have frozen in their moorings! We had to retreat inland. There was no other way to escape the army!"

"An army?" Under what banner?"

Fear erupted on Talin's face. "No banner, your grace! They came—they came from the sea!"

"The sea?" Such thing was unheard of! Ashe looked at Talin, and then down at the other Landisians, who were now shifting uneasily in their places. The queen looked back at the woman, and realized that she was in pain. "Oh gods, get this woman a seat!"

"Magic, it can only be magic!" her voice went high and brittle, and her face twisted with agony. Talin's hands went to her bulge and she rubbed it fiercely. "Err…hmm…however, they're trapped…within the border of Fort Fylleborg. Its high walls are impenetrable by their forces…mmm…My husband—Skeele fon Hedenburg—he has a first hand account of what happened."

"Don't speak," Ashe ordered, realizing Talin was finding it hard to breathe. The queen instructed one of the guards. "Find her husband, Skeele. Bring him up here as well."

Skeele fon Hedenburg was a middle-aged man with a gruff beard. Were he a bit younger, he could have been mistaken for Basch. The way he dictated his words sounded so similar to the judge's. It unknowingly made Ashe blush as he spoke. "An army of a hundred or more soldiers marching out from the water! The land froze under their steps as they marched on the shore…" Skeele began. "They were led by a large—very large man. His skin was the color of the deep blue. His head was elongated, and corals stuck out from the top of his head like a crown."

The story sounded as if he had pulled it out of a fable. "That's impossible. I have seen many strange things in my life, ser," Ashe told him. "But an army marching out from a frozen sea is not one of them."

"They covered the cliffs in a shroud of cold mist! The coastlands turned pale and froze!" Skeele said with massive gesticulations. His hands were sweeping wildly upward. "They could not ascend the high rock faces. Their only point of entry into the Landisian city is by means of Fort Fylleborg. There is something in that fortress stopping them from making their advance."

Ashe's mind returned to her resistance days. She remembered the phenomenon on large, magic palings blocking passageways in the Golmore Jungle, in the Great Crystal of Giruvegan. She came to a conclusion that magic was truly involved. "Kerwon has always been a volatile region," Ashe noted. "The jagds are unkind to most forms of life."

"If they break past that barrier, then…" Talin began. There were tears in her eyes, which came out of fear and not the pain of her motherhood.

Skeele hushed his wife. "Don't speak, Talin. You are too weak. We have been walking for days end on, and our child only grows bigger." And he looked at Ashe. "Please, Queen Ashelia. We mean you no harm. We are but vagrants from the valley, looking for refuge…"

Their faces did not lie. "I will…" Ashe started, and saw their faces light up with hope. "I will do the best that I can, Skeele. Your may stay for a while in Rabanastre. The South Plaza is open to your people. I'll have a message sent to Emperor Larsa immediately, and he shall see your safe passage back to Landis."

"Emperor Larsa does not care about us," Skeele spat.

"Skeele!" Talin spoke up. "You speak out of your ken."

"We tried to talk to the governor of Landis about this, your majesty. He told us that help would come from the capital, but it never did!" Skeele was furious. The stitches on his sleeves almost gave way to his fuming shoulders. "We risked our lives crossing the Paramina Rift and Bancour. My wife is about to give birth, while _he_ sits on his throne and acts as though this situation is of no consequence! What are we to do with him?"

"Trust him," Ashe replied curtly. A sting jolted down her heart. "Emperor Larsa might have not received word of it yet. You know no airships fly in Kerwon. The message must have been delayed. Larsa is a kind man. When he knows of your state, he will not hesitate to help. He has great heart for provincials."

That quieted Skeele. "Thank you, your grace," was all Skeele said, but it was clear he was suppressing Anti-Solidor acid in his throat. "Please, be the one to help us."

"Once again, I will do the best I can. You have my word," Ashe promised them.

That afternoon, Queen Ashelia sent a letter to Archadia regarding the Landisian refugees. The letter included a request to transport the vagrants to Balfonheim, to where they would be under the care of Governor Foris Zecht (also known as Reddas). Emperor Larsa received the query two days later. It was the third time he got word of the frozen army. It was also the third time he dismissed it.


	4. One and the Same

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps protecting Larsa and Landis were one and the same.

**CHAPTER 4: ONE AND THE SAME**

Nine o'clock in the morning and no one on the throne—this worried Basch. He inspected the study, and found the emperor's desk completely intact. The papers were piled atop each other with not a page out of place. Basch hurried to the gardens to see if His Excellency was out on his morning walk. All the grass and flowers were in perfect shape. Emperor Larsa was neither in his private dock nor the music room. He was nowhere to be found! At once, terrible thoughts of the ruler being kidnapped, or killed—or kidnapped and then killed!—rushed through the judge's mind.

"Have you seen Emperor Larsa?" he asked Madame Wahl worriedly. She was the maidservant in charge of changing the emperor's bed sheets and curtains.

"No, unfortunately," she frowned. "But he asked Regina to bring his breakfast into his quarters this morning, your honor."

"So he's in his quarters?" Basch breathed a sign of relief when Madame Wahl nodded. "Alright, thank you."

The emperor's quarters were on the 73rd floor. Basch took a lift to the place—and found the ascent to be terribly slow. The blasted thing stopped at every other floor! He was pressing the buttons viciously as if they could take him any faster. He jolted out of the lift and sprinted to the door in front of Larsa's bedroom. Basch tried turning the knob, but the thing was wretchedly fastened in its place. He rapped the door twice.

There was no response.

"Emperor Larsa," he called, rapping the door twice more.

Still no response. His heart beat faster.

"Larsa, I beg you. It is I, Judge Gabranth." Now he was knocking faster than the speed of light, so loudly it sounded like the maddened gallop of a horse. "Empe—"

The door clicked from behind, and then creaked open. Basch saw a part of the emperor's face appear through the crack in the doorway. "Ah, Noah!" the emperor greeted in a honeyed voice, highly uncharacteristic of the man. The door flew open unexpectedly. "Come in, come in! You missed all the fun!"

Gabranth dragged his soles into the room. Larsa's quarters were dimmed. The curtains were pulled over the windows. The light streaming through the balcony door illuminated the room, drawing irreverent shadows across his unmade bed. The marble flooring beside his bedpost was stained in red splotches, and Basch swore he saw broken glass. The pungent smell of Sandalwood Roon resonated throughout the room. The emperor was no less of a mess as well. His dark locks were unkempt and oily, and his bangs hung over his dazed eyes. He sweated profusely, had stains on the pits and the torso part of his tunic.

Larsa beckoned Basch out to the balcony. To his surprise, the judge found four bottles of wine—three and a half of them emptied—perched on the top of the railings. The ruler took his seat on a settee, and immediately reached for a goblet across him. "This city is beautiful," he remarked. "I never get tired of seeing it."

"My lord, you've been drinking…"

"It helps get a man thinking!" Larsa rhymed, clapping his hands.

"My lord, there's to be a security council," Basch began, refusing a drink from the emperor's goblet. "It's to start within an hour. Judge Zargabaath is to be there, and Governor Ambros of Landis, and a Dalmascan general representing the queen."

Larsa's voice waned into a whisper. "So we are going to war, aren't we? All these years, I have worked ceaselessly to prevent a disaster like this from happening. The gods have a humorous way of rewarding their very loyal subject."

"By all means, if we can stop the war, then I will make sure it will be sto—"

"—and I'm going to get married to a complete stranger," the lord cut in. Larsa's face was red and he was grinning like a mad man. "This is the fate of an emperor, Basch. People who mask their ulterior motive as goodwill predetermine your destiny. Look around you, Basch! Look how many damns they give about me!"

The judge was insistent on the pressing matter. "Emperor Larsa, you have not replied to Ashe for days. The refugees are waiting endlessly in Rabanastre. Dalmasca and Bhujerba have ceased trading with the Port of Landis. The very people that you serve question your actions."

The emperor's face distorted into a look of frustration. He slammed his goblet on the rest of his settee. Wine spilled all over Larsa's hands, but it seemed he did not care. "Adamant!" he roared. "Basch, are you blind? If we are to send troops south, there is no turning back. That means war. War means our people are going to die."

"It is in self-defense. They're a threat to the Empire's sovereignty. My lord, you cannot simply pretend as though this whole deal is non-existent."

Larsa paused, and a wind of ravaged silence passed between them. The man broke into a grin and nipped the mouth of his cup. "Princess Serani comes tonight. What impeccable timing!"

Basch was on the brink of rage. He grabbed the wine goblet out of the emperor's hands before he could take another sip, and tossed it over the railings. "You would do anything for peace—that is your strength and your weakness!"

Larsa glared up at the judge. His face looked like that of a babe whose bottle was snatched away from him. "Basch!" he fumed, shoulders rising all the way to his ears.

"Excellency, my _homeland_ is in peril. I will not rest until I see it safe!"

"Landis? Yes, that was your homeland…" Larsa drawled. He withdrew his anger, and looked into the distance. "Hmm, now I understand the urgency from your part…"

"My lord, you are in no shape to see the council," Basch concluded disappointedly. He eyed the emperor from head to toe. A mess, a complete mess! "I will have it moved to the afternoon, when your mind is free from unnecessary clutter."

"Are you calling me a drunk man?" Larsa teased with a deep chuckle.

Basch simply shook his head, but in his mind he fought his hardest to prevent admitting that his master was.

 

* * * *

 

Later in the afternoon, the judge magisters Gabranth and Zargabaath, Governor Ambros fon Balderburg of Landis, and a Dalmascan general named Erryl were gathered in the Archadian security council chambers. They communed around a large, rectangular table. Hovering on top of its surface was a holographic map of Eastern Ivalice—everything from the boundaries of the Rozarrian Empire to the Pharos at the edge of the known world.

"Emperor Larsa, we thank you for gracing us with your presence," bowed Governor Ambros as the ruler entered the room. Larsa made haste to his seat and sat. Once he was settled, it was everyone's turn to do the same. The map expanded in size and zoomed into the areas bordering the Naldoan sea.

"I am sorry for the delay. I was not well this morning," Larsa apologized, looking around. The other men, excluding Gabranth, seemed to buy his tale. "What are the current circumstances of your province, governor?"

The governor swiped his hand over the hologram and the image moved to the area under a state of calamity. "The army is held up here, at Fort Fylleborg," he explained, pointing to a large icon on the map. "The fortress is an ancient, holy site revered by the people of Landis. It was the burial site of our forefathers. Jurgaen's Pass leading to the fort is the only point of access into the City of Landis. The pass is about fifty kilometers long, and is enclosed by high karst crags. The entire shoreline is frozen and covered in a cloud of mist. However, there is something in the fortress that is preventing the army from crossing into Jurgaen's."

Judge Zargabaath spoke up. "No airships fly in Kerwon due to its jagds. The fortress is impenetrable by air. We would have to use foot soldiers."

General Erryl, a bangaa, looked to Larsa. "We have two hundred chocobos and a brigade of two thousand strong ready for your disposal, sire."

The figures were frightening. Two thousand lives, all of which could be spent on an emperor's whim! Larsa kept his head low, as if contemplating, and craned his neck over the hologram. "Two thousand, you say…" His eyes moved from the hologram and up to Judge Gabranth for answers.

The judge was silent. His mask made him appear as if he was gazing back at the emperor, but his mind was elsewhere. He thought not of the war, but of his homeland. The places Governor Ambros named had resurfaced long-forgotten memories and evoked nostalgia. Basch wondered how much had changed since he was gone. Did Landis still have its somber and rustic charm? Were the fishing ports still made of rickety wood, or had Archadian steel arms replaced them? Was his old house still perched precariously at the edge of the seaside cliff?

"Emperor Larsa, we stand ready at your orders," Zargabaath prompted the man.

Larsa nodded his head in acknowledgment. "Yes. I apologize, Governor Ambros. I will not allow our people to dive headfirst into the abyss. We must first know the enemy. I am committing 800 infantry soldiers to this cause."

"Excellency, we will be overrun! We predict the King of the Sea has over three thousand beast-men in his army."

"The King of the Sea?"

"That is what we call their leader. They say he came from the depths of the Naldoa, and that corals jut out of his head like a crown."

"Perhaps we can negotiate with them."

"They will not listen to reason. They do not seem to speak the common tongue."

"One thousand foot soldiers," the emperor decided. "And no more."

The governor grimaced, knowing Larsa had said his peace.

"We will have aerial reinforcements to shore up our defenses," Larsa explained. Now it was his turn to operate the hologram. He panned over to the edge of the Dalmascan border. "Judge Zargabaath, where is the closest point the airships can be positioned?"

The judge marked it on the map with an icon. "Around 200 kilometers off the coast of Bur-Omisace. If we stray too near Landis, the gloss-air rings will surely fail."

"Position the airships here, and here," the emperor ordered. "We must make sure that the vessels are not hovering over the water. If this King of the Sea truly takes his power from the Naldoa, we must ensure that the battle be fought on land. We must find a way to draw them into the pass."

"Yes," agreed the bangaa general. "And Dalmasca will position her airships on the Isthmus of Bancour and by the mouth of the Nebra. Those are the only water systems into Dalmasca. We will be quick to replenish the foot soldiers by drop."

"Gabranth, fortify the Archadian gulf. I want navy patrols scouring the waters every hour. Contact Governor Zecht to close off the port of Balfonheim. We are to redirect all flights to the Archades aerodome."

"Understood, my lord," Basch replied.

"We will need someone to lead the infantry into Landis."

"Gabranth will go."

"My lord?" Basch asked through a strangled breath. He could hardly believe what he was hearing! His eyes shot to Emperor Larsa. The man deliberately did not want to make eye contact with him.

"A man must know his own land," Larsa remarked, keeping his eyes on the hologram. His eyes followed the Jurgaen's Pass, from the beachfront, to a fork in the road many miles inland. One path lead to a vast, mountainous region, while the other snaked up to the Imperial highroad and the Landisian city. "Gabranth, lead the infantry to Fort Fylleborg."

Emperor Larsa was Basch's charge and he would never dare leave his master's side...but for once the judge entertained the thought of separating from him. Larsa's orders rattled the judge, and turned his sworn oath on its head. The call of the sea was hypnotic and vicious. He struggled against it like a ship sailing into the eye of the wind. But no, he could not resist. He reasoned: perhaps protecting Larsa and Landis were one and the same.

"Yes, Excellency. I will go."


	5. The March

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basch and Ashe lead the march to Fort Fylleborg, and meet a skirmish at Jurgaen's Pass.  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR'S NOTES:  
> Thank you so much to those following the story! I really hope you are enjoying it. From now on, you will be seeing a lot more action (and romance!). I would want to thank the new fans and the old ones, too. I am touched with your words, and inspired to write some more! Onwards!  
> Lots of love,  
> Airbendergal

**CHAPTER 5: THE MARCH**

 

At the dawn of the sixteenth day of Mistleaf, three thousand foot soldiers began their march towards Fort Fylleborg. There were two thousand Dalmascans, one thousand Archadians, five hundred Landisians and two hundred battle chocobos dedicated to this cause. The allied forces convened on the coastlands by Bur-Omisace—the extraction point for all airships. In terms of aerial support, Archadia committed a total of eighteen warships, including the Alexander, flagship of the twelfth fleet, commanded by Judge Zargabaath. Dalmasca committed seven ships, including the dreadnought Leviathan, a dreadnought serviced for Queen Ashelia. 

Basch did not expect that Queen Ashelia join the march. Battling was not out of her nature, but to join a skirmish after many years of no training was like walking into a death trap. General Erryl told him that the queen had simply insisted, and that no further explanation was given. The thought of seeing Ashe after many years made his heart swell with joy. He imagined she would have aged quite a bit, but still retained her queenly beauty. How would she react when she saw him? 

For many years, Basch’s love for her was a courtly love—one bound by law and duty. But perhaps, the judge thought, this was an opportunity to challenge it. A second later, he revoked the idea. No, he was not here for romance, but for war! A mysterious force threated to disturb the peace in Ivalice, and he would be responsible for the Empire’s victory or defeat. 

A smaller air cutter remora birthed from the Leviathan and made its descent onto the grasslands where the infantries were held. Then, there she was. As she descended from the hovercraft, Basch swore she was the sun. Queen Ashe was donned in battle armor, golden and glistening like her flaxen hair. Basch’s knees went weak as the monarch strode towards him, tailed by General Erryl and a viera warrior. 

The judge knelt. “Queen Ashelia.”

“Judge Gabranth,” she greeted back in a tender voice. She bowed lightly. “It is good to see you after all these years.” 

Impossible! How could her words build him up and cut him down at the same time? He was glad she felt the same way, but he wished Ashe addressed him by his real name. He wished he could strip off his mask and tell the whole world the truth! “I wish we could have met under different circumstances,” Basch told her. 

She nodded. “This matter is unforeseen. To think, a beast-man army from the depths of the Naldoa! How has Emperor Larsa been taking it all?”

Basch remembered the smell of Sandalwood Roon and gritted his teeth. “He had to make some very hard decisions, especially when it came to mobilizing the infantry soldiers. You must understand that he is the lord of all pacifists,” Basch mused, and evoked a smile from Ashe. “I reasoned with him.” 

Yes, he would make himself look like a hero. 

“How goes the emperor?” 

Basch wished she would ask him how he was. Nevertheless, he answered. “As usual, there are conflicts with the senate. However, they were able to agree on finding the young lord a bride.” The judge felt himself a winner. He was grinning ear to ear, but she would not be able to see it. 

“Who did they choose?” 

“Princess Serani of Rozarria.” 

“Al-Cid’s sister?” 

“Yes, she should have arrived at the palace at this hour.” 

“When are they to be wed?” 

“The emperor has not discussed such plans with me, but it is to happen.”

“Alright. I pray they get along,” Ashe said thoughtfully. “I have met many Rozarrian women before. They’re very free-spirited. Strong personalities. Nothing less than the flair of Al-Cid. She should be quite the woman.” 

But nothing quite like you, Basch told her in his mind. He hung his head and tried to flip the conversation casually. “Why have you joined us? ‘Tis a dangerous path ahead.” 

Ashe spoke, but the sound of airship turbines drowned out her words. She looked up questioningly, realizing she could not even hear herself. The Leviathan was pulling away overhead, and so were the other Dalmascan ships. The tall grass beneath their feat swayed and bowed in all directions. 

Far ahead, a block of soldiers began marching forward. 

“My queen, it is time,” General Erryl prompted, hinting some impatience. Basch had forgotten he was standing right there. The viera warrior in their group had come in leashing a chocobo.

“I’ll explain everything to you on our way there,” Ashe said as General Erryl helped her mount the chocobo. Basch came up to her and helped her slip the footholds onto her feet, and she let him. 

An Archadian soldier jogged up to Basch and gave him his own chocobo. The judge mounted it quickly and gripped the reins. The beast reared and gave out a throaty squawk as he jerked the straps backward. The man charged forward to the head of his group, and caught up to a judge by the name of Hausen. 

“Landis is not far. We’ll reach Jurgaen’s pass in an hour if we keep up this pace,” Gabranth told Hausen as they glided into a steady trot. The judge magister looked around and recognized the main Archadian division, all in the default imperial armor. There were soldiers, however, who were ahead of the group, all mounted on chocobos. Fifty of them sped forward and ascended a rocky slope. “Landisians?”

“Yes, the forward scouts,” Hausen replied. “They’ll secure our route to the pass.” 

Now, the terrain was growing incredibly steep. The armies were now skirting around the northern face of Bur-Omisace to get into Landis and down Jurgaen’s pass. The foot of the mountain was a boreal forest dotted with evergreens and coniferous trees. Basch dodged through the trees on his steed, advancing past the group as Hausen led them at a marching pace.

The sights, sounds and smells were awfully familiar. The sun breaking through the conifer trees scattered light on the uneven ground. The piney scent of the place brought back a memory: Noah and Basch would go out into the forest in the morning to hunt for rabbit and deer. They would later bring back the game for lunch or dinner. Mother would be rambling at the stove, complaining how the fire magicite had been so impotent and barely blurt out a flame. Father would pop in from time to time, but often spent his days in solitude out on the seas. 

_“Look, Basch! I caught one!”_  
_“Noah, it’s a little one still. Let it go!”_  
_“As long as it fills the stomach, it’s still meat, yeah?”_  
_“Cruel, cruel! What would mother think about it?”_  
_“She’d appreciate the fact we got something for her. You’re too soft, Basch!”_  
_“Am not!”_  
_“Then kill it for me, then. Show me you’re a real man.”_  
_“Noah…”  
_ _“Kill it!”_

The chocobo reared and steered itself away from the path. Basch jerked out of his daydream and gasped as his mount crashed into a group of soldiers. He drove the chocobo in the other direction before he could cause any more damage, but his beast was still swaying like a drunkard. “Hei!” Basch jeered, tightening the reins. 

“Judge Gabranth!” a voice called. 

It was Queen Ashe on a chocobo. She galloped towards Basch and met his pacing. Basch jerked the leathers back and the chocobo heeled. How embarrassed he felt! He kicked the sides of the steed with his metal boots, hoping it would get the message. “Your highness.” 

“I still have not explained to you my reason for joining,” she began. 

Basch was all ears. “Pray tell.” 

“I asked my senior researchers to study this Fort Fylleborg. It is one of your nation’s most holy sites, the burial grounds of your forefathers—the men who built Landis from ground up.”

“Yes. In our culture, they were epic heroes that sailed up the edge of the world. We believed that the Pharos was but a gateway to another dimension, and that there was more sea past the edge of Ridorana. The greatest of the seamen was Laegd. They say his body is buried in the heart of the fortress.” 

“Yes, I believe there’s something of importance buried with that Laegd. You remember King Raithwall, yes?” 

“Your predecessor, one of the pillars of the Galtean alliance.” 

“Yes, King Raithwall once held a great battle here many centuries ago. According to the stories in the archives, he fought a large army of beast-men who crawled out from the depths of the sea. The tale sounded so familiar, so similar to the crisis we’re facing now.”

Basch was amazed at the pattern, the parallels of the story.

“Now, a general called Loemund lead the beast-men—and lost the battle against Raithwall. My ancestor took Loemund’s magical helmet, and the enemy shriveled—as if seaweed pulled out of the water. The beast army pulled back into the sea and disappeared. Just like that.”

“And what do you believe?” Basch asked.

“I believe Loemund’s back for his helmet. I believe that’s why he’s returned. Just think about it, Basch. There’s only one explanation!” Ashe explained earnestly, eyes bright and astute. Basch met her gaze and felt himself melting on the inside. “If Loemund gets hold of that helmet…” 

“Sir!” a voice interrupted. 

Basch broke his gaze and looked to his left. Judge Hausen was rushing forward on his chocobo, and speeding many paces ahead. Gabranth watched Hausen’s figure join the ranks of other mounted knights. It did not take him long to realize that they had reached the border of Landis. Jurgaen’s Pass rose before them: a startling fallow rock face split irreverently in half. The gaping maw in between the two rock walls was narrow and rough, and could only fit about ten rows of men. The armies would have to merge to fit the bottleneck. 

Now, the foot soldiers halted their advance. Group by group began rearranging themselves. A faction of forward scouts held their positions at the top of the rock. They watched like gargoyles upon a cathedral, rock gazes staring down upon the soldiers. “Clear!” one of them boomed, and the others echoed. “Clear!”

Basch fell back to his own group as they entered the pass. The path grew narrower and uneven. An uneasy silence fell upon them all. Only the clinks and dins of metal footsteps all clunking in sync, and the occasional squawk coming from a chocobo mount could be heard. The judge looked around, eyes scanning the rock face on both sides viciously. The forward scouts were riding by the rims overhead. He heard the crunching of the rocks under the chocobo’s feet. At one point, they had sped out of view completely, eaten by the hulking, karst walls. They were placed in a very vulnerable position—such place could be a site for ambush. The consciousness of danger was very much real, and was something he had not felt for a long time. His senses had heightened, and paranoia along with it. 

The armies turned right, following the bend of the road. They passed under four, large archways of stone, the under sides of which bore deathly sharp stalactites. The terrains began to dip at the fifth archway, and now Basch could see the horizon lying behind the sea—the frozen sea. 

“Gods…” Hausen muttered under clenched teeth. “The stories are true.”

The stones transitioned from karst to basalt. Large columns of rocks began popping out from all sides. The ground plunged, leading them down, and into the deepest part of the pass. Now the cliffs were as high as skyscrapers, and threatened to collapse on them. The dreaded mist began to creep in, snaking between the feet, and unguis, and tails, and spear-butts, and wheels. 

The chocobos began squawking restlessly. Basch’s steed rocked forward, almost tossing him over. The man shouted to restrain the beast, but it only got madder. It dashed forward, crashing into a cart of provisions. The foodstuff on the cart toppled over, rolling forward and down the steep slope. 

“There!” cried an echoing voice. “The scouts!”

Basch felt something cold splatter on his face. He felt it slowly and smeared it off his cheek. The tips of his fingers were covered in deep red. A cold knot formed in his stomach. Slowly, apprehensively, he looked up. He saw the soles of metal boots. Many meters above him, five Landisian scouts hung lifelessly. They swayed like clothes on a wire, fresh blood dripping from under them. “Shit.” 

Suddenly, an inhuman shriek flew out from inside the thick mist. A figure charged out of the billow—a beastman with a shark’s head and a humanoid body! He carried a large maul made out of coral, and donned armor with the texture of oyster shells. Behind him, a horde of strange, green men with large gills followed. They hooted and yapped like nothing Basch had never heard before.

Basch jumped down his mount, drew out Tournesol, and tensed himself into a lunging position. 


	6. Serani

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, Larsa meets his future bride and has a skirmish with her brother.

**CHAPTER 6: SERANI**

Emperor Larsa waited anxiously in the throne room. He had not eaten in eleven hours, but was past the point of hunger. He was pacing around the platform, thoughts of Serani buzzing around in his head. The man practiced the spiel in his head. “Good evening, princess. No, my lady. No, Serani. No, it would be too straightforward. A pleasant evening, Lady Serani…” His voice was rapidly rising. “No, no, no!”

The throne room doors flew open in the distance, and he shut his mouth. Larsa saw three figures walking towards him. They were but the size of his hand, but he recognized two of them: one was Judge Zargabaath, leading the way, and pacing a few steps behind him was Al-Cid. Next to him was a woman, whom Larsa assumed to be his bride-to-be. 

He straightened his back, fingered his loose hair behind his ear. Of course he would have to look presentable—no, more than presentable! First impressions were lasting ones. Larsa wore the best outfit in his closet, something that would tell Serani his true personality. Yes, he would be sincere to her in every possible way. But could he be sincere to himself? Could he really get himself to love her? Or too, at least, understand her?

Now they were growing closer, and ever more threatening. He could see Serani’s face in full clarity—the face of his wife-to-be! She looked much younger in real life, more innocent and shy. She dared not make eye contact with him, but kept her gaze on his feet. 

“Ah! If it isn’t my little emperor!” Al-Cid burst out with arms wide open. 

Larsa held out a hand for the Rozarrian man to shake, but Al-Cid slapped it away and gave the emperor a tight, manly hug. Larsa tried his best to avoid groaning, but a sound of annoyance escaped from his throat. His diadem slipped forward and almost fell off his head. The emperor pushed himself away gently and fixed his hair. All those hours of styling, just to get it rattled up by Al-Cid? Inconceivable! 

“Lord Al-Cid,” Larsa grumbled jokingly. He bowed lightly. His eyes then moved to Serani, and caught her eyeing him curiously. She was shifting around in her place uneasily. She surely must have been overwhelmed by the circumstances thrown upon her! “And Princess Serani, it is an honor to finally see you. I’ve heard much about you—and most of the stories do not compare to the real thing, I must admit.”

A flush of red appeared on her olive cheeks, and her hazel eyes glimmered with some surprise. She gave off hints of a smile.

“Sister, you’re so quiet!” Al-Cid laughed. He looked at Larsa. “Do not worry, she is a lot less boring than this.”

Larsa shared in a good-natured laugh. “How shall I address you?” 

“Serani,” she replied simply. Her voice was deep and gentle. 

The emperor beamed. “Alright, Serani. Shall we have dinner?” 

Emperor Larsa, Lord Al-Cid and Princess Serani had dinner together in the patio. A large, gastronomic feast was laid before them at the dining table. There was stuffed turkey, and bass, and pheasant, and even spiced bread from Rozarria. Al-Cid helped himself to the turkey, while the princess mostly ate what seemed to be familiar to her. 

“I’m afraid the Archadian palate is a lot blander than the Rozarrian one,” Larsa told Serani. She was sitting across her, nibbling on bits of the spiced bread. She continued to keep to herself, not meeting his gaze. It gave Larsa more opportunity to study her. Serani had olive skin, a tinge lighter than her brother’s. She truly had those sad eyes—deep and intense. Her strong nose drowned out many of her other features, all but the dark, wavy locks that cascaded down to her chest. “Are you enjoying the meal so far?”

“Yes,” she replied, meeting his gaze, and then hastily looking away.

“So when do you plan to get married?” Al-Cid’s question cut right through Larsa.

“I would like to get to know her ladyship better before that,” Larsa said decidedly, trying his best not to show he was shaking. 

“Ah, waiting! Waiting!” Al-Cid said, pouring some wine into his goblet. “Just bed her already!”

“Brother!” Serani shrieked suddenly, flushing furiously. 

Larsa felt some heat across his cheeks as well. Impure thoughts began forming in his mind—of them on their wedding night! He tried his best to fight them off. The man cleared his throat. “I’m not certain of Rozarrian tradition, but in Archadia, that would be improper.” He looked to Serani, who was now glaring at her brother crossly, and embarrassingly. Already, there was some inexpressible tension between them.

That did not seem to hamper Al-Cid. “Ah, delaying the wait, you are!” he laughed, and then pointed to Serani. “You will have blue-eyed children, just like you’ve always dreamed!” 

“Al-Cid, stop,” she said gravely, grabbing his sleeve. 

Something unexpected happened. Al-Cid raised his hand and struck his sister in the face! There was a loud and painful thwack. Larsa was astonished. The left side of her face was red and throbbing, but she reacted as if the blow was nothing! How could she have accepted that sort of treatment? The princess continued to eat her meal in silence, and tears were forming in her eyes. 

“I think that’s enough for now,” Larsa said down at his plate, indirectly addressing Al-Cid. “After dinner, allow me to show you to your quarters, my lady.”

The meal ended in a strange note. The two siblings walked quite some distance away from each other. Larsa moved over to Serani’s side and couldn’t help but stay in between them. If he could block any of Al-Cid’s other slaps, he would do it gladly. 

The emperor ushered the Rozarrians to the 72nd floor, right below his private quarters. Princess Serani’s room was all lit, and smelled of heavy perfume. “I took the liberties of bringing in some items from Ambervale,” Larsa explained, showing a hand around the room. He pointed to a hanging lamp. “I wanted to make sure you felt at home, as much as possible.” 

Serani still looked so glum. She slipped into her room, stood still and looked around. The windows were fashioned in stain, mosaic tiles, and the curtains drawn around the canopy of her bed were nothing less than Rozarrian in style. There were even the large, metallic green pillows on the floor for her to rest on. She turned around to face Larsa, sullen, but she still had the energy to say, “Thank you, Larsa.”

He liked the sound of his name on her tongue. It sounded so sharp and foreign in her Rozarrian accent. “If you are in need of assistance, there is a guard stationed outside. If you need me, I shall be on the floor above you. The seventy-third.” 

“Well, all seems to be in place!” Al-Cid grinned, cupping his sister’s shoulder. “I bid you the best, dear Serani. Treat Emperor Larsa well. I’ll be looking forward to your correspondence.” He rubbed her shoulders so furiously that it crumpled her sleeves, and won her spite more and more.  


Serani looked towards Larsa by the doorway, and then to her brother. Al-Cid pecked her on the forehead playfully and strut out of the room. “Ambervale awaits, dear Emperor,” said the Rozarrian, taking a long bow. “Serani is young. She still has much to learn. Train her. Feed her. Make love to her.”

Although it was said with the purest of intentions, Larsa could not help but feel as if his words were leaking malice. To train, and to feed, and to make love—it all sounded as if she were nothing but a pet! A pet that could be leashed. A pet that could be disciplined with either a carrot or a stick. “We will work things out,” was all that Larsa could promise. Rozarrian culture was so mind-boggling! 

“My leave I take,” Al-Cid nodded, spinning around. Judge Zargabaath met him by the lift, and the two disappeared from sight. 

Larsa let out a long, pained sigh. It was all too much! 

Serani’s door was still wide open. Larsa ambled back to her quarters to check if she was fine. The princess was sitting by the bay window, peering out into the city. Archades was alive and bustling even at night. The city never slept. 

“Do they have skyscrapers in Rozarria?” Larsa asked, leaning on the doorway.

“No,” she replied in a shaky voice, her gazed fixed on something outside. It was clear she was trying to fight back tears.

“You allow your brother to do those things to you,” Larsa noted sadly, looking at the place where Al-Cid had struck her. Now he could see an outline of his fingers on her gentle face. 

“You do not know anything about me,” Serani snapped coldly. She looked at him, and he at her. By gazing into her eyes, he understood her pain. She was far away from home, about to be wed to a complete stranger who did not speak her first language or shared in her culture. 

“But I would want to,” Larsa responded, stepping forward. Seeing as though his advance did not affect Serani, he backed away and hovered his hand over the doorknob. She needed space and time to take it all in. Perhaps he needed to do the same. “Good night, Princess Serani.” 

“Good night, Emperor Larsa,” she replied, walking to the door. 

Larsa shut the door quietly. The knob twisted back in its place and clicked. He closed his eyes and sighed again, wondering if he really knew what he was doing. He was about to turn around and leave when he heard something from inside. There was a muffled thud, and a few moments later, a sobbing cry. And Larsa stood there, feeling clueless and utterly helpless.


	7. A Breach in the Outer Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The armies make it to the entrance of Fort Fylleborg.  
> A hulking monster appears, and with it, the hunger for first blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Sorry this chapter took so long. I've been swamped with work at my internship.  
> However, it's coming to a close, so I'll have more time to write the story.  
> The carnage begins now.   
> Airbendergal

**CHAPTER 7: A BREACH IN THE OUTER WALL**

Sharkhead arced the maul over his head with the full measure of his fury. Basch strafed sideways just in time as the thing came slamming down with a thunderous blow. The ground beneath them shook. Basch reared and struck Sharkhead on his left pauldron. The shock was enough to shatter the shell armor, and Basch would have hit him a second time, but the beast-man lifted his weapon again with formidable speed. Now Sharkhead spun his maul a full three hundred sixty degrees. It rammed into an Archadian soldier and split his spine in half. And another! The second soldier’s eyes erupted from its sockets! 

Basch dropped to the ground as the maul swung overhead. Now on his belly, the judge scrambled through the dust—evading the gruesome unguis of the beast-man as it beat the ground. Basch swiveled around and hooked Sharkhead’s feet with his own. The foe was swept off its feet and fumbled back. The judge scrambled up and raised Tournesol over his head. Swiftly, strongly, as a lumberjack splits timber with his axe, so did Basch fon Ronsenburg smite the beast-man. Right between the eyes he hit the shark. The blade dug into his cranium and the frontal bone ruptured. 

The adrenaline within Basch pumped higher and higher, heat rising all the way to the crown of his head. Such power! He spun around as a group of green-gills sped past him. Their skin was stretched like thin cloth over their bones, each of which could be made out. Hideous duck-like feet galloped towards a group of Dalmascan soldiers—and Queen Ashelia! The judge found himself lunging into the fray. He ran his blade through the back of a green-gill, and another! A green-gill threw itself onto him and scratched its claws on his helmet. The tearing, screeching sounds of its sharp nails echoed in the inner of Basch’s headdress. He ran forward and slammed the beast against another soldier’s shield—squashing the green-gill like a foot in the door. 

“ _Fira_!” Ashe cried as a tendril of fire erupted from in front of her. The magic bolt struck three beast-men at once. The green-gills frenziedly hopped around as the flames consumed them. One ran into another, and the third was met with the Queen’s blade. Ashe steered her chocobo to the right, and with perfect timing, sliced the head of a fourth green man. “Hya!”

A rider-less chocobo came hurdling towards Basch. The judge timed his jump and leapt onto the beast, struggling to fit on the footrests as the steed blundered through the ranks. The man got a good grip of the reins and tempered the mount. He regained control of the chocobo and rode behind the queen. 

“Ashe!” he yelled out over the sounds of the battle. 

“Judge Gabranth!” Ashe yelled back, and she slowed down her pacing. 

Now the two of them were riding at the same speed as a blockade of soldiers surrounded them. The flanks tore down the enemy lines and paved a way towards the fortress gates. Looming behind the thick billow was the shadow of a wall that did not seem to have a top. “Fort Fylleborg,” Basch breathed, craning his neck to see if he could see beyond the nebulous sky—but no, the mist was too thick, too deep to be penetrated by the naked eye. “Majesty, we must find you cover.” 

The queen nodded and looked around, swerving her chocobo from left to right. She began to trot eastwards, following roads that lead them deeper into the mountain. They followed the fortress wall. Fylleborg was made of a million slabs of irregularly cut basalt, stretching far from the beach to the mountain pass. Large frescos of green and gold hung from the top of the parapets—which could now be made out. A few more minutes riding through the path, they reached a hulking gateway that lay wide and gaping. The main entrance, it seemed. 

Two Landisian scouts flew forward on their mounts with attempts to pass through the gateway. A second later, they were chucked back by a sheer amount of magickal energy. The hole in the gateway stirred, rippled, and revealed an electric blue sigil that now blocked the passage into Fort Fylleborg. 

“’Tis what stays the hand of Loemund,” Basch told Ashe. It seemed the queen had tuned out. Her eyes, unblinking, were fixed onto the sigil. As if in a trance, she dismounted her chocobo and raised her right arm above her head. “Your highness. Ashelia. Queen Ashelia…” 

Ashe could not believe her eyes. At first she thought she was mad, but now it was clear. The ghost of her loving father drifted before her. After all these years, King Raminas had finally shown himself to her. His eyes were blank, and his lips pale. In his hands, he held a conical, golden helmet. Adorned on its top was a pair of brass wings, outstretched, and a trident jutting out from above its sights. “Father,” Ashe said in an undertone. “Is this your will?”

“Guard her!” Basch ordered some foot soldiers as Ashe floundered forward. 

The sound coming from the sigil pulsated in her ears—a hollow, deep tolling like cathedral bells. Then, the sounds of voices—soprano and bass—culminated together in a cacophony of tones. Louder, and faster they rang. Ashe ran forward as her father’s ghost dissolved into the magickal paling. Her feet were now moving on their own. They brought her forward, and unable to stop her own advance, Ashe braced herself as the sigil came towards her with the speed of a train. She screamed, but no one would hear. The sigil, like glass, shattered and tumbled—the inscriptions in electric blue unraveled from letters to irreverent lines—and the intricate designs burst into nothingness. 

Ashe was siphoned back into reality. Her body, weak, fell back, and was caught by metal arms. Her eyes peeled open, and she slowly recognized the helm of Judge Gabranth. The metal visor stared down at her with lifelessness, but Ashe felt the tenderness of the man beneath it. “Your grace,” he said, his voice muffled by the silver screen. He gently put her down to a restful sit. 

A mess of Imperials now stormed into the fortress, into the courtyard. It was a crescent-shaped space packed between two high walls. There were paved roads weaving around perfectly kept greenery. By magick, and to the armies’ unbelief, the place looked like it had never been abandoned. The mist had not settled within the fortress, but a dusty, silver cloud still loomed beyond Fort Fylleborg’s outermost wall, the one facing the Naldoan Sea. 

When she was strong enough to walk, Basch helped her up. “What have you witnessed?” He knew that unnerving visage, the same ghostly eyes when she saw Rasler at the Pharos. 

“He walked into the fortress, my father,” Ashe said breathlessly. 

“King Raminas?” The memories of his brother’s betrayal, and his unforeseen caging emerged from the darkness corners of his mind. “I did not kill him.” The words came before he had even time to think of it. 

“I know, Gabranth. My father and King Raithwall...they are all connected to this very place,” Ashe mused, clasping her hands. She looked down. “As a descendant of the Dynast-King, I must endure—” 

A sudden, bone-chilling roar shook the heavens. All heads turned towards the Outer Wall. 

A ravaged silence. 

A flock of seagulls streaked past overhead. The Landisian scouts, now scouring the parapets all faced the frozen sea. They could not see past the bulwark, but fearlessly peered into the mist. Immediately, fifteen of them, gaining their positions on the rampart, drew their bows and aimed into the nebulous curtain. 

“Steady!” cried a Landisian captain as his men’s bow arms shook. 

There was a low, purring noise that shuddered the mist. The purr turned into a gurgle, and the gurgle into a loud rumble. But silence ensued—a stillness that could turn a man mad. 

Then suddenly, from inside the billow flew out a massive tentacle! It grabbed a Landisian rider and his chocobo. The man screamed for help as he was turned upside down—then his voice was cut short as he disappeared into the cloud. 

“Steady!” repeated the Landisian captain with an edge sharper than steel. The loyal scouts kept their places, their arms straining at the bowstring. 

The tentacle came flying through the air once again and grabbed a rider right off his steed. 

“Fire!” cried the captain. 

A hail of arrows buffeted the tentacle, piercing it in a thousand directions. The appendage curled up and sent the rider flying into the air. The soldier screamed “My god!” before his head collided with the pavement. The tendril jerked back into the haze. As one cuts the head of a hydra and two grows back in its place, so did the tentacle return with three others. It began grabbing the soldiers and dragging them into the bowels of the mist. 

Basch pulled Ashe behind him. “With them!” he ordered at his group. The imperial soldiers poured into the courtyard, keeping their blockings. “Mages!” 

A line of Imperial Magi stepped forward as a line of archers moved back. They all now aimed their sights at the top of the wall, where the Landisian scouts were diminishing in number. The magi stamped their staffs in sync, and sigils of magic drew themselves onto the ground. 

The tentacles grew in number, squirming like telltales on a sail. Massive, meaty arms swiped the top of the ramparts and leveled the stockades. A large, bulbous figure drew closer and closer, its outline growing quickly opaque. Basch could make out large, bulging eyes colored in bright yellow. A steam of sickly green merged in with the mist—and the horrendous stench of rotten fish hung over them. Lastly, the gaping maw with a thousand needle-like teeth emerged from over the wall like the curvature of the sun on the horizon. Higher and higher the mouth rose, revealing the head of a titanic beast. The mother of all tentacles, a great Marlboro scaling the wall! 

It large, ogling pores on the back of its eyes pumped out more green jets, which smelled of bodily fluid—acidic to the nose and bitter to the taste. For a beast that size, it would surely have been slow, but not the Marlboro. Its tentacles grappled the inner side of the wall and it launched itself up. Its sheer weight came crashing down onto the Outer Wall, tearing it down as if it were made of paper. The stones gave way. Dalmscan soldiers moved towards the breach, weapons raised in fury. 

Now more beast men broke through the wall. Sharkheads, and green-gills, and strange beast men of the sea! Their armors were made of shell, their shields of thick driftwood and their helmets of rusted chunks of metal. The green-gills had no armor, but they were agile enough not to be hit. In groups they came, like packs of wolves, launching themselves onto soldiers and tearing their appendages off. The soldiers held the breach, battling the beast-men corps-a-corps. The Marlboro—still in frenzied—batted its tentacles on groups of soldiers, not minding if they were friend or foe. It squashed the men and beasts like as boots do to ants. 

Basch helped Ashe to General Erryl’s chocobo. “Get her into the keep,” he instructed the bangaa. The lizard man obliged and instructed the queen to put her arms around his waist. 

The two Dalmascans sped off into the opposite direction, falling into the ranks. They were dodging through green-gills and soldiers with impossible speed. Erryl drew out his javelin and drove it through a Sharkhead’s nape—and then a green-gill’s back! With unparalleled strength, he pulled back his spearhead and released his dead foes from the skewer. They disappeared into the distance.

Judge Hausen came trotting back. Basch mounted his chocobo and the two of them raced towards the breach. More green-gills scaled over the fallen rocks. They spawned like cockroaches! The judge magister looked to beyond the wall—past the endless stream of beast-men—and there he saw it: a lone ship breaking its way through the frozen sea. The ice seemed to give way to it as it sailed closer. On it, Basch could see two figures—a hulking beast man with the head of an anglerfish, and beside him a smaller man with a horned head. The King of the Sea, no doubt! 

“Gabranth!” he heard Hausen cry. 

A green-gill grappled Basch and dragged him off his saddle. He fumbled sidewards and the footrest caught his ankle. The chocobo reared and squawked helplessly the other gills in the pack dug their talons onto its body. Basch swung Tournesol in a wide arc, killing the green-gill that pounced on him. He kicked himself out harm’s way before his steed fell over in a pool of blood. 

The Marlboro breathed more harshly now, its pores pumping columns of green like the blowholes of whales. More and more stomas bloomed from its back, and as they fluttered open, Basch could see what seemed to be the back of its eyes—the thick networks of nerves and muscles oozing with yellow mucus. “There!” Gabranth cried, pointing to the Marlboro. “Time your attacks with the opening of its pores! Rain fire upon its holes!” 

The magi obeyed. They murmured the magickal chants in perfect harmony and cast the fiery spell. A flurry formed atop the Marlboro. Its tendrils reached out to grab the enchanted cloud, but passed through nothing but air. A hailstorm of fire rained down on the Marlboro, shooting right into its very core. The beast’s eyes popped open and it writhed as the fires burnt its innards. Its tentacles twitched and swiped away like a wild hose. One crashed into the line of magi and disrupted the enchantment. The flurry cleared out over its head, but the damage had been done. The Marlboro, at an attempt to save itself, crawled back into the depths of the Naldoa, the fires on its back hissing as the wretched thing hit the ice. 

The anglerfish on the lone vessel gave out a bellow. “Enough! Fall back!” his godly voice cut through the very air and disturbed the mist around him. At once, the beast-men obeyed. Greengills and sharkheads turned about and retreated out of the fortress. It seemed he was the commander of the king’s forces.

The remaining Imperial soldiers gave out a victory cry as the last of their enemies bounded off the wall. Basch followed them on their heels, leaping over the rocks and debris, and mounting the broken fortification. He now stood on the beach, where the sand was covered in a thin layer of ice. The ship began pulling away. 

“Will this battle see no end?!” Basch cried out at the vessel. 

The anglerfish-man, now advancing forward, cried back. “Only a king may speak to the king! The carnage shall not end until we find one that is worthy!” 

With that, the ship and its two passengers disappeared below the waves.


	8. High Stakes at High Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Serani's uncertainties--Larsa's sermon--Lebleau's subversion--Zargabaath's announcement.  
> There are no friends and foes in the great game.

**CHAPTER 8: HIGH STAKES AT HIGH TEA**

That morning, Emperor Larsa learned a great deal about the Margrace Family. He asked Serani many things: about her family, more especially about her curious brother. He learned that Emperor Al-Zedir had five wives and twenty-two children. Al-Cid and Serani both were offspring of the fourth wife, and had three other siblings between them. Al-Cid was ninth in line to the Rozarrian throne, and with his eldest brother’s present ailing health, it was possible that he could soon be the eighth. 

In all honesty, Larsa felt it more of an interrogation than a discourse. The princess merely answered with a “yes” or “no”. There were times she would throw in a short phrase, but she never spoke unless spoken to. Perhaps it had to do with the language barrier, to which Serani confessed she found it hard to translate her thoughts. Perhaps it had to do with her culture. The emperor wondered if Rozarrian women were truly conditioned to feel so threatened, and if that were the case, he could not bare it. She could not stay this way forever. No, unlike her brother, Larsa could not come to hurt anyone! 

After lunch, the emperor toured the princess around the palace. Larsa brought her to places he imagined Serani liked. She told him she enjoyed painting, and that she had a gift for playing the piano. She was given a tour of the music room on the fiftieth floor, where a solitary grand piano laid collecting dust on a dais. She capered to the thing quite excitedly and lifted the fallboard while Larsa propped up the lid. He asked her to play her favorite song and she obeyed. The song started in a slow, sad tempo, then suddenly exploded into a wild, erratic tune. Her fingers flew around the board so fast that it looked like she was barely touching the keys. She felt every note of the song, the man reckoned, as her eyes turned glassy. Finally, the piece ended with a strong downbeat, and she rocked back, eyes closed and breathing heavily.

Larsa clapped, impressed. “We have musicians play at the Imperial Court every Thursday,” he explained. “You would truly love them, although I fear they are not familiar with this sort of music. Is it a Rozarrian folk song?”

“Yes. The _bandir-targhul_ , we call it. Do you like it?” she asked, looking up at him for approval. 

“It is…” Larsa found himself searching for the right word. “ _Different_.” A poor choice of words, he later realized, as Serani’s frown sank all the way down to her jaw. 

“I am sorry,” she apologized, lifting her hands from the keys. 

“There is no need for an apology.” The emperor was concerned, but his tone came off as passive-aggressive. He had to remind himself that he was not dealing with a senator, but his future wife, and that he needed to modulate his voice from time to time. 

“Yes, my lord.” Serani, still seated, faced him and angled up her cheek. Her eyes closed, her face tensed, and she felt herself ready to be hit. 

“Is this truly what you desire? To be shamed constantly?” he asked her gravely. 

“Yes, if I have done wrong.”

“If I were to hit you in front of all the servants, you would agree to it completely?” 

“Yes,” she replied, almost robotically. 

“Is that all you know how to say? Yes?” 

Serani opened her eyes and threw him a look of confusion. Her mouth opened but a bit, and then closed after a few seconds. It was clear she was afraid to say the wrong thing. “ _Fasi_ , Larsa. I did not mean to offend you.” 

“I do not want you to say sorry. I want you to understand,” Larsa explained, going on one knee. His voice became gentle, and he spoke into her very soul. “Whether you accept it or not, you are no longer in Rozarria. You are to be the empress of Archadia. As my wife, I expect you to learn a few things, the first of which is to be your own person. ‘Tis a lesson only you can teach yourself. Could you do that for me?”

Slowly, uncertainly, but with gaining determination, Serani replied. “Yes.” 

* * * *

At four o’clock in the afternoon, Larsa and Serani had high tea with a few of the senators, namely Drace, Lebleau and Granch. Lebleau was genuinely excited to meet the princess, not only because she was his first choice as Larsa’s consort, but also because he was closely connected to her uncle, the Rozarrian Trade Minister. He sought the gathering as a chance to explore more leads for his investments in Ambervale. Drace and Granch were there merely for formality’s sake, and to inspect for themselves the princess. 

The high tea happened on the twenty-seventh floor, in the drawing room with large ballroom windows and a splendid view of the lush Highgarden Terrace. 

“Felicitations, Princess Serani. Or, as your people would like to say: _Gargesa, Serani-Tashir_!” Lebleau greeted, kissing her hand as Rozarrian tradition dictated. “I am glad you could join us today. The stories do not lie—the Emperor is truly lucky to be wed to such a beautiful woman.”

“You speak Rozarrian well,” she commended him, bowing lightly. 

The pretense sickened Larsa. He remembered it was Lebleau’s fault for getting him into such an ordeal. “If you will, my lady,” the emperor prompted Serani, showing her to the middle seat of a futon. Serani took her seat gracefully, crossed her legs and placed her hands on her lap.

“This alliance will surely further the cause for peace in Ivalice. For this, you have our utmost thanks,” Drace began as a tray of macaroons was carried into the room. The servant placed the confections on the table in the middle of the group. The senator reached out for the peach-colored one and bit into it. 

Serani looked to the macaroons and then at Larsa. She was a stranger to those sorts of treats. Larsa gave her an approving nod, and the woman reached out to get a mint-colored at the table. She pinched the treat with two hands and pressed her fingers into it. Hard, but spongy on the inside! She bit into one. Sweet, terribly sweet! Her eyes widened and she suppressed a cough as the sugar grated the inner side of her throat. 

The senators watched her fascinate at the macaroons. Larsa couldn’t tell if they were amused or mordant. He studied their actions carefully. They were bewildered with her inexperience, and even more with her foreign features, and because of that he would have to be extra cautious. Larsa cleared his throat. “Senator Granch, how fares the inquiries for the Vint case?” 

The senator with the braided beard was pulled out of his musing. “Oh, indeed, it is going swimmingly!” Granch exclaimed as one of the servants poured him his cup of tea. “Just as I have predicted, your Excellency, it seems that Miss Charlotte is still the prime suspect for the case. The only suspect, may I add.” 

Larsa’s face turned sour. He looked down into his own cup of tea. “Well, we shall have to look into that matter further,” he noted, regretting asking such a question. “I suspect that is not the only pressing matter on our hands. I am certain you have heard of our advances in Landis, senators.”

“Indeed, Emperor Larsa. Such impeccable timing!” Drace remarked. 

“I am confident we shall have the situation under control in no time. Judge Gabranth and the main Imperial regiment are teaming up with the Landisian provincial infantry and the Dalmascan army. Our numbers are enough to match this King of the Sea’s army.” 

“Our forces have not failed before,” Lebleau agreed. “This does not worry the senate. We are currently attentive to Archadia’s alliance with Rozarria. The opportunity such a union presents is quite overwhelming.” 

He turned his head towards Princess Serani, expecting her to react. 

“Yes,” Serani replied uncomfortably.

Larsa eyed Drace, and the chancellor caught the emperor’s uneasiness. 

“Have you discussed your plans of marriage with his Excellency, _ma tashir_?” Lebleau asked the princess. Serani’s eyes widened and she froze in her place. 

“We have yet to agree upon an exact date,” Larsa spoke up in her behalf, and exchanged good-natured nods with his partner. Serani started nodding viciously in agreement, shifting her gaze from the emperor to his advisors. “It is to happen soon, however. Archadia can begin settling her trade agreements with Rozarria. I am to visit Ambervale within the next month, should time permit.” 

The emperor knew this was exactly what Lebleau wanted to hear. The senator was smiling ear to ear. “Very good, my lord,” he said with a light bow. “So it is within the same time period that we should expect the most holy ceremony. How exciting, all of it!”

Granch sneered, and Larsa caught ear of it. He knew Granch was the patriot and the purist among his contemporaries. “This alliance is truly a surprise,” he told her. “It is the first time House Solidor has been graced with a Western empress. The last recorded incidence of intermarriage was during the time of Emperor Arnould in 590 Valendian. He was the ruler before House Solidor’s ascent to the throne. What makes this situation even more curious is that you are Rozarrian, a daughter of our great adversary.” 

That seemed to provoke an anger hidden within her. “If it is to foster ties between our two nations, then I oblige,” Serani answered, matching Granch’s strident stare. “It is not the first time I conformed before I loved. And it will not be the last.”

Her answer sculpted silence in the room. Larsa looked at Serani. Although she was innocent about many things, she was no alien to the love of her country. She was a proud Rozarrian, and would cut down anyone who wished to slander her motherland’s name. However, her words were drawn with no hesitation, flawless grammar and perfect intonation. What of the language she confessed she could not speak? And t’was not the first time that she conformed before she loved? Perhaps there was much more to her that he could not fathom, and that sort of uncertainty alarmed him. 

A moment later, Judge Zargabaath threw the doors open. Larsa jerked up from his seat. “I suppose you have good reason for intruding.” Anything, anything to take him away from the place!

“Urgent news from Landis, sire,” Judge Zargabaath said hastily, passing the emperor a rolled strip of paper. 

Emperor Larsa unfurled it and scanned the words scrawled on it. “Heavy losses on both sides. The outer wall of the fortress has been breached. We have lost many of our men to a Marlboro commanded by the Sea-King. He claims the onslaught will not cease unless he ‘meets one that is worthy’ of matching his power. It seems he seeks you, Excellency. The armies ask for immediate reinforcements, and your presence. Judge Gabranth.” 

“Impossible!” Granch cried. 

“It seems we underestimated this Sea-King,” Lebleau contemplated, closing his eyes. He stroked his chin. “Emperor Larsa, shall we declare a state of emergency? The people cannot be kept from this truth.”

“Indeed. I have already denied three press interviews,” Granch agreed. 

The emperor looked to the senators, then to Serani, and finally to Judge Zargabaath. A state of emergency? Never in his lifetime had he thought this would happen! Archadia, his most sovereign nation, his motherland, the bosom of heroes and tyrants, fallen victim to a mysterious oppressor’s hands! Shame, shame on him! 

“Very well. Call for a press briefing,” Larsa sighed, putting a hand to his forehead. “After that, Zargabaath and I shall make haste to Landis and see if we can reason with the enemy.”

“Be cautious, sire,” Drace advised gravely. 

“I shall send the vanguard in advance,” Zargabaath told Larsa. 

“And I shall pledge my personal army to your protection,” Granch added. 

The people in the room were gesturing at each other, all except the emperor. They began to talk about artillery, about downing the trade market for a couple of days, but all of them—gobbledygook! Larsa was greatly concerned with the elephant in the room. “Halt!” he cried, drowning out their voices. “No one? Not a single one of you is going to stop me?” 

“If it is for the good of the empire, it must be done,” Lebleau replied, nodding his head viciously. “Emperor Larsa, you must go. We will keep _Serani-Tashir_ safe from harm in Archades.”

“Yes. If Archadia is to survive this battle, the tide must be turned to our advantage,” Granch said, reaching to get another macaroon. He munched it and casually gave Larsa a shrug. “Who knows? This King of the Sea could be an asset for the Empire if we are able to leash him. All it takes is the slightest of threads.” 

But what of their worries of the Solidor line? How could the senate so capriciously throw away their concern for him? Larsa grimaced. “A leash easily broken.”

And then it hit him. Of course they would agree. It would be to the best of their interests. Larsa Ferrinas Solidor, the last of his name—the last thing standing between them and an opportunity for hegemony. It would be most unfortunate if anything were to happen to him. 

A frustration boiled inside of Larsa, and he felt himself ready to burst. “Chancellor Drace, take charge of the briefing with the other bastards. You have responsibility of legislative affairs. I depart for Landis immediately,” the emperor ordered, barely minding his words. He then faced the princess. “Serani, with me.”

Fear flashed in her eyes. She quickly obeyed. Zargabaath, Larsa and Serani began walking to the door. 

“Impulsive! As expected of our dearest emperor!” Lebleau maligned. 

“Wait, your Excellency!” Drace cried, overwhelmed. But the three of them had already turned the corner. 

* * * * 

Emperor Larsa brought them to the armory. Perched on a rack—shining like a display piece in a museum—was his most trusted sword, Joyeuse. Its straight blade seemed newly whetted, and its faceted pommel and knuckle-guard glimmered like it had just been polished. Next to Joyeuse was Swordbreaker, a most versatile shield made of cast iron, whose edges could trap a blade and split it in half. 

“The most fated weapons,” Zargabaath murmured. 

“It won us a battle. I pray ‘tis time to champion another,” Larsa said, slowly reaching out for Joyeuse with both hands. She seemed to call to him. One hand grabbed the hilt, while the other became a rest for the blade. With a sudden, vicious jolt, Larsa motioned a forward slash. His sword whistled as it cut through the air. Now, he grabbed Swordbreaker and angled it in front of him. The man gained a fighting stance—legs slightly apart and planted, shoulders firm and forward. He imagined a beast-man lurking in front of him. A flick! Parry! Riposte! 

“Where is your armor?” Serani asked. 

“There.” Larsa pointed to a plate armor made of Archadian blued steel and gold, imbued with purple agate. It had decorative etching: the serpents of House Solidor snaking down its pauldrons and plackart. On its back hung a long cape with the emblem of the Archadian Empire. The armor resembled that of a judge magister’s armor, but had a most regal and noble air surrounding it. “I hoped I would never use it. Alas, necessity. I must change attire.”

Serani excused herself from the place and quickly shuffled out of the room. She dared not see her future husband’s skin until the wedding night. 

Emperor Larsa and Judge Zargabaath came out of the armory a half-hour later with some other servant boys. The emperor was now donned in his regal plate armor, but even with the ferocity of the steel covers, it just did not seem right fit on him. Serani could not imagine her lord going to war—he was filled with the milk of human kindness, and looked more like a young man playing soldier. 

Serani followed the judge magister and the emperor to Larsa’s private dock on the seventy-fourth floor. A lone airship berthed at the bay—the craft that would take them away from Archades, and to the extraction point just below Bur-Omisace. Judge Zargabaath stepped into the vessel and waited by the doorway for his emperor before advancing into the cockpit. 

“I must go. I will see that this encounter ends swiftly,” Larsa told Serani, and was met with no resistance. She just stared up at him with her sad, hazel eyes. “You must be cautious, even around the Imperial Palace. Do not entertain any of the senator’s requests while I am gone. I have stationed two guards in front of your bedroom. Madame Wahl will see to any of your concerns. And also—”

“—You worry. Go to your people,” she cut in. “They need you.”

“Yes, of course,” Larsa breathed. “Goodbye, Princess Serani.” He leaned in and gave her a chaste peck on the forehead. He thought that would have changed his mind about her, but no, it still felt all so contrived. 

“Goodbye, Emperor Larsa,” she replied. 

The man stepped into the airship. He looked at Serani, and waved at her as if it was the last time he was going to see her. The metal doors slid back in place. Larsa went to the cockpit and assumed his seat next to the judge magister. Zargabaath quickly maneuvered through the panel board—he was an expert at flying ships. 

The vessel hovered, wavered back, and then zoomed forward all of a sudden. Larsa found himself flying, climbing higher and higher to the sky. Their ship was joined by another of equal size, and still, another. Now larger airships fell into the flying formation. Like a great, migratory flock they flew over the skies of Archades, and to the south they kept their bearing. To the south, they would shed their blood.


	9. Unexpected Reinforcements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An epic battle ensues. More kinds of beast-men spawn from the depths of the Naldoa.  
> Men fall on both sides. When all hope seems lost, unexpected reinforcements arrive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! How has your reading experience been so far? I am eagerly hoping to hear from you all!
> 
> Thank you to all those who are supporting this story. It's been an amazing experience so far, and I hope that you too are immersed in the world of King of the Sea. When writing, I try to make the scenes as authentic and well-researched as possible. Thus, I had to stick my head into all of these war books. And OMG let me tell you, IT'S NOT EASY. There are a lot of confusing terminologies. Anyhow, I really wanted to write the battles in King of the Sea as grand as the ones in Fortress: Final Fantasy. They were meant to be large-scale skirmishes attacking on different fronts. A literal tower defense strategy. A lot of love and research has been put into writing this epic chapter. I, however, am still developing my style, so if any of you have comments and critiques, I'm open to constructive criticism. I wish you all the best, and keep on reading!
> 
> [AIRBENDERGAL]

**CHAPTER 9: UNEXPECTED REINFORCEMENTS**

The morning after the first battle, Basch and General Erryl rode out to the Outer Wall. They ascended the battlements on chocobo, and reached the base of a watchtower that had been spared from the great Marlboro's crushing blows. The two of them dismounted their steeds and walked over to the bulwarks. Over the crenellations they peeked, past the beach and into the frozen sea. The mist had settled over the water, undisturbed, and all the ice sheets had fallen back in place like a solved jigsaw puzzle.

"We must fortify the beach," General Erryl said, pointing to certain area on the sandy stretch. "The Landisians have raw wood. We must plant stakes. It would slow the enemy's advance."

"Yes, and I shall have the magi impose the magick paling after we speak," Basch nodded. He gestured to the gaping breach in the Outer Wall. "There should be stakes planted around the break as well. The archer's first position should be on the outer wall."

"We cannot say if the Marlboro shall return."

"I do not believe it would. It seemed greatly injured and would take some time to recover. We do not know of the other beast-men, however, for the King of the Sea controls a vast army. We have already identified the Sharkheads and the Green-gills, and know their weakness. It is only a matter of instructing the soldiers."

"General Krjn and I will lead the cavalry on the second line. Shall anything happen to the first—gods protect them—we shall swoop in and crush the enemies."

"And the infantry shall be there to aid you, I give you my word."

Erryl looked at Basch determinedly and flicked his forked tongue. "Our men: they bleed, yet they continue to fight. Let their deaths not be in vain. For every soldier is also a son or a daughter, a sibling, and a friend."

* * * * *

A total of six hundred and thirty-two stakes were pitched up on the beach that morning. The sand had been splintered with so much wood that the stretch looked like the skin of a cactoid. An additional one hundred and seventeen wooden stakes were raised upon peripheries of the breach, in a semi-circular formation: wide enough for the defenders to pass through freely but choking enough not to let a group of beast-men charge in all at once.

Archers, both Archadian and Dalmascan, were positioned on the battlements of the Outer Wall, three rows and twenty-nine columns. The strongest archers were positioned in the front row—for aside from producing the longest draw-length, they were also there to intimidate the enemy.

The Dalmascan cavalry held around two hundred riders, and was split into two wings. The left wing was commanded by General Erryl; the right by General Krjn. Queen Ashelia lead the infantry reserves at the back of the lines, and she would not be put into play unless all the other formations had fallen.

The Archadian infantry held eight hundred foot soldiers, split into three groups. The center was lead by Judge Magister Gabranth, the left by Judge Hausen, and the right group by a certain Judge Grahm. They lay waiting behind the breach and would be the first to charge into a frontal assault while the cavalry attacked from the side.

The Sea-King's army, therefore, was to be attacked from three fronts.

A great waiting game happened after the troops had been positioned. The front lines watched the still sea for hours. There was no sign of Loemund and his army. While the Archadians were used to frigid temperatures, the Dalmascans began scorning the cold. Their armor (or the lack, thereof) proved to be the greatest conspirator of the devilish weather.

By the third hour, the mist began to creep onto the beach. Like ghostly fingers, the billow reached out over the sand and brushed over the Outer Wall. Judge Gabranth ordered the magi to install the paling. The mages chanted their spells, and a massive, curved screen dimmed over the battlements.

The ice sheets began to crack; massive fissures forked out on the surface. A bowsprit broke over the glacial pane, followed by the figurehead of a ship. Loemund's great vessel emerged over a frosty wave. Like bees disturbed in their hive, countless numbers of beast-men burst out of the water—and slowly, but with gaining speed, picked their way over the squalls.

Judge Gabranth looked to the top of the battlements.

" _Archers_!" cried a small voice coming from atop the massive outer wall.

The bowmen drew their strings as far as the arrowheads could touch their bows.

" _Fire!_ "

A hundred strings sung. Two clouds of arrows rained down on the beast army, pinning—piercing—impaling—enemies to the ground.

"Draw!"

A hundred hands, all in sync, reached into their sheaves and drew out a hundred more arrows. With the order passed, another barrage of projectiles sprang into the air and buffeted Loemund's brutish forces. The cacophonous sound of arrows whistling and banging against driftwood shields had a great mental effect, for the clatters were drawing closer, and louder than ever before. The Sea-King's army pressed on with unprecedented daring.

There was an irritating clinking sound to Basch's back. The judge magister looked behind and realized that a banner-man behind him was trembling to the bone, and that the wooden pole he held was ratting against his greaves. "Stay your ground, soldier," Gabranth ordered.

The stakes on the beach seemed to interrupt the enemies' lines. The foe's blocks were forced to split, and the archers were able to isolate their targets into groups. A new kind of enemy came forth: purple-skinned men with eel heads. These eel-men, though lesser in number than their other beast allies, were a force to be reckoned with. They had muscly bodies and thick necks that could stretch out a meter. Like a pythons, the eel-men could jerk out their jaws and snap off the head of a stake.

Fifteen eel-men began their plough through the beach; breaking the palisades as if they were toothpicks. Archers tried to pick the eels out, grouping their arrows as close as they could to the new foe. The projectiles were no match for the eel's stony hides. They landed on the purple men like needles on a pincushion—a cushion that could carry at least ten of them before dropping to the ground.

Now, the first line of beast-men had reached to the breach. Using their coral mauls, the Sharkheads rammed the paling relentlessly with an onslaught of blows. The magick screen bent and rippled and stretched, but its foes could not destroy it. The magi behind the paling were chanting even louder to keep the beast-men at bay. The line of mages moved back as a group of archers moved forward. They drew their bows quickly and shot the sharks right in their faces. The attacking beasts slumped down the paling in pools of black blood. Yet, like automatons, another line of beast-men came forth to replenish the lost formation. They stepped on their comrade's dead bodies as if they were but piles of sand. Another barrage of blows clobbered the paling—now causing it to reverberate wildly like the surface of a drum. The magi and archers switched their positions again, and the enchanters moved forward to replenish the thickness of the protective veil. The light surging from their arms began to flicker and wane, for the magick juices within them were quickly draining out. Closer and closer still they marcher forward, almost scraping the walls of the breach.

"The paling is ruined!" Judge Gabranth declared as the magick shield dimmed out overhead.

The magi scrambled to get the mana potions on their belts, but the enemies were too quick. A flying stake came hurling through the air like a spear and hit an Imperial magi square on the chest. Another flying stake hurled by an eel-man punched its way through an ironclad chocobo. Its rider toppled over and his legs were crushed by the weight of his fallen steed.

Green-gills surged in. Quick and vicious they launched themselves onto the magi in packs and tore their limbs off. Attendee archers on steeds came running to their aid, crashing through the serried ranks. The other fronts tensed themselves and got ready for the attack.

Eel-men cut through the wooden peripheries, splinting the wood with the indomitable strength of their jaws. The snapping of stakes sounded like the falling of trees—crisp, loud shattering that pierced right through the eardrums. The archers on the Outer Wall could only watch as the enemy lines broke into the outer courtyards once again.

Now it was the cavalry's turn to advance. Two wings broke into the charge. General Erryl's wing joined the fray, while the viera General Krjn's forces attempted to circle the enemy lines. Erryl's forces were at a loss, for thick clumps of dead bodies had blocked many footways towards the inferior center. The chocobos were distressed and could not gallop over the obstructions. The mages in the middle were picked off one-by-one, and could barely defend themselves against the mighty shell swords of the Sea-King's men.

Erryl reared his chocobo and booted the steed. "Hya!" The great bird winged up and skirted around the stakes. The bangaa general and his riders ran out round the frontal ranks and rushed at the enemy lines from behind.

"Forward!" Judge Gabranth thundered, and the center infantry group began their march. The banners went down, while the shields went up. The Imperials marched together, interlocking their steps to make themselves one solid, moving monster.

As they had joined the heart of the skirmish, the center of the trident-shaped formation of Archadia sprang forth. Soldiers dislodged from their column and ran between the spaces of the General Krjn's chocobos to collaborate in the melee.

Basch rushed forward on his mighty steed, running over bodies—indiscriminate of friend or foe. Tournesol came swinging in an upward stroke and split a green-gill from its groin to its chin. He hacked away at an eel-man before his jaw came snapping at the judge's sword arm. The eel's large eyes rolled to the back of its head and its neck slid off its place. A fountain of blood erupted and drenched Gabranth in crimson rain.

The right and left column of the Archadian formation marched in. The second positions were now installed upon the bloody courtyard.

Another pack of green-gills fearlessly dodged the blows of Dalmascan spears. From eight of them, they waned down to five—but still the beasts ran, pushing past the ranks of General Krjn's riders. Another group of nine gill-men did the same! Impossibly fast, they charged right into the Dalmascan infantry. Taken by surprise, the front lines of the formation shuddered and broke off from the group to surround Queen Ashelia.

A cold knot formed in Basch's stomach. Without thinking, he doubled back. "With me!" the judge magister boomed at the Imperials that could hear him.

The Archadian foot soldiers of the center group were disordered. The block split into two columns now—the ones who heard Judge Gabranth's order, and the other that had pressed on in the melee. A column of around thirty soldiers covered Basch's flight, weaving and cutting through the enemy lines that tried to square them in.

"Where is Judge Gabranth?!" Hausen cried over the crashing of shields.

"He's abandoned the formation!" Judge Grahm yelled back.

"Shit!" Hausen cursed as he spotted Basch's figure speeding off to the rims of the fray. "Soldiers, keep your lines!" But the center group had dissipated and the beast-men had closed in on them. Archadians fell at the heads of the columns, which created a devastating domino effect to the back of the lines.

"Fall back! Fall back!" General Erryl cried.

What remained of the left wing followed the bangaa general down into the back end of the outer courtyard, rotating their position on its head. General Krjn followed suit, while the Archadian infantries were finishing off—or rather—being finished off by Loemund's army.

"Retreat!" Judge Hausen shouted.

Basch booted his steed until it came in range of the green-gills. They trampled upon a woman archer and ripped her to shreds. A group of swordsmen came forth to counterattack the gill-men, but the beasts splintered off and closed in on another woman soldier. The lady screamed shrilly as the scaled demons slit her throat with their talons. It was as if they knew exactly whom they were meant to kill!

"Queen Ashe!" Judge Gabranth cried. "Follow me!"

Ashe and some other Dalmascan riders trailed behind the judge as he raced up a tall flight of steps. The Dalmascan infantry held back a group of eel-men and sharkheads, and covered their monarch's escape. Basch's route took them deeper into the fortress. Up to the second tier of Fort Fylleborg they rode, across a moat that held four drawbridges.

Basch looked around as endless strategies buffeted his head. He had to think fast, as the Sea-King's forces were quickly gaining ground. Reserve archers had gained their positions on the second level's ramparts, above the drawbridges, and Imperial gunmen's crates and gunpowder kegs were all lined up for the worst. "There!" Judge Gabranth said, dismounting his chocobos. "Gunmen, plant the kegs on the drawbridges. We shall detonate the openings."

"Are you mad?" Ashe raged. "Our soldiers would get left behind!"

The judge moved to the queen and looked up at her. Ashe's eyes were burning with fury. "A sacrifice they have to make. We must see to your protection, your grace. Now, with all haste!" Basch cried, booting Ashe's steed. The queen screamed as her chocobo jolted forward and zoomed across the bridge.

"Faster!" The Dalmascans cried as they rode behind their queen.

Now the three groups of Archadian infantry were all retreating, and the Dalmascan cavalry had doubled back and ascended Fort Fylleborg's mighty steps. The large drawbridges could take as much as ten rows of men and seven rows of chocobos. Allies streamed into the inner courtyards as Loemund's men coursed into the outer one.

Basch pushed against the tide of fleeing soldiers. With the help of Imperial gunners, they quickly hung kegs from the beams below the ramp. This way, the stream of soldiers would not trample on the barrels.

"Archers! Light your arrows! On my mark!" Judge Gabranth cried as he raced into the inner courtyard. A group of green-gills tailed him on his heels.

The reserve archers drew their strings until it had touched their chests. With the whisper of an enchantment, the arrowheads caught fire out of the air.

"Now!" Judge Gabranth commanded.

Flashing arrows bounded from their bows, landing on the drawbridges. The mad flames lick the wood. Loemund's beast-men roared as the roiling blazes consumed them. The first bridge burst into flames and a terrible blast coming from the second one shook the entire fortress.

"Again!" Gabranth thundered.

The third bridge caught flame, exploded, and spiraled down into an endless ditch. The third gateway collapsed, and some archers fell into the void as part of the rampart gave way.

"Release the forth volley!"

The bowmen stayed their draws.

"Release the forth volley, I say!" Gabranth cried. "Are you deaf?/'

"My lord!" one of the archers cried. "Over there!"

Basch looked beyond the ramparts and saw a large mass of silver storming down the mountain pass. There were thousands of them, like a great avalanche, covering the hill in glistening fury. The cacophonous rumble of their feet trembled the ground and made the debris around Basch's feet tremble.

"Reinforcements?" Basch breathed. He squinted his eyes as the sun's reflection beaming of their armor blinded him. "Under what banner?"

"Archadia!" another archer rejoiced.

The silver tsunami broke into the courtyards, overrunning the scattered enemy lines. The single column of densely packed soldiers broke out into seven assaulting pillars, trapping the beast-men and killing them off mercilessly. Basch looked out into the frozen sea and observed Loemund's great ship. Its hull had begun to sink. The waves around it tossed and turned wildly as a great stream spun the ship into the undertow. The Sea-King's godly assistant bellowed his bestial call. The beast-men, once again, were ordered to retreat. As sparrows return to their nests after a long flight, so did the armies of Loemund crawl back into the bosoms of the sea.

No victory song was sung, for Archadia and Dalmasca's armies knew they would return.

"Judge Gabranth!" a voice called from beyond the battlements.

A group of seven riders broke off from the assaulting columns and ascended the second tier. Hard and fast they rode, on their fresh and ironclad steeds. On the rear of the group was a banner man, who held up the insignia of two crimson serpents interlocked in a perpetual dance.

"It's Emperor Larsa! He's here!" Judge Gabranth cried, racing to the other side of the battlements, to face the soldiers trapped in the inner courtyard. "Make way! The emperor is coming!"


	10. Night at the Encampment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The armies earn a well-needed respite.  
> Emperor Larsa meets Queen Ashe after six years.  
> Zargabaath and Gabranth strike up a talk by the pyres.

**CHAPTER 10: NIGHT AT THE ENCAMPMENT**

Now with their soldiers doubled and their requisitions reacquired, the united armies set up a large encampment behind the fortress. Two thousand tents were pitched upon a gentle slope, which held remnants of columns marking the old Imperial highroad. At night, the camp’s brightness could only match those stars in the heavens. Torches lay lit, and the pyres for the dead stayed their heavy flames. Kiltia from Bur-Omisace descended the holy mountain to pray over the dead, and also bless the armies. An approximate of one thousand nine hundred had perished in the last few days—most of which, to Governor Ambros’ dismay, were Landisians. Their scouts and riders were the first to suffer heavy loses, followed by the Dalmascan cavalry under the wing of General Erryl. 

The tent of Queen Ashelia was one of the largest and the brightest structures in the encampment. Inside, there was a large table, in which her generals communed to discuss war tactics; a lavish chair planted upon a six square-foot platform; a banner of Dalmasca hanging from the back wall; a long divan; and a sturdy queen-sized bed (complete with fur coverings) hidden behind a long, wooden divider. Whatever the style, it seemed she intended to make herself comfortable for a very long stay. 

Ashe and her generals were debating over the war table when Judge Gabranth entered the tent. The three Dalmascans halted their conversation, and the two generals bowed their heads as Emperor Larsa was escorted into the chamber. The bangaa and the viera straightened up a few moments later and spirited themselves out of the tent. 

“Queen Ashe,” Larsa greeted, bowing his head. “I bid you a good evening.”

“Emperor Larsa,” Ashe curtsied, reciprocating Larsa’s gesture. “Good evening to you as well. I fear the situation is dire enough to demand your presence. However, I cannot say it is not welcomed. Many of our soldiers have fallen, and we would have been crushed had your army not come.” 

“It was a hard decision, but my decision, nevertheless. This King of the Sea—Judge Gabranth told me the carnage would not stop unless I speak with him.”

“It seems Loemund shall not face anyone who is not worthy.”

“Worthy of—?”

“That I cannot say,” Ashe said, shaking her head. She casually flipped the subject as the emperor came towards her and revealed their large difference in height. The last time she had seen him, Larsa was just an inch or two taller than she, but now he stood a full head higher. “How long has it been since your visit to Rabanastre?”

“Six years,” Larsa replied. “Though it feels like only yesterday.” 

“It does, does it not?” Ashe mused, looking at him discriminately. His boyish facial features had been stripped away and replaced with a sterner visage that alluded to the burden of rule: sharp but tired eyes, a stronger nose and a squarer jaw lined with the faintest of stubble. “You have changed.” 

“Haven’t we all?” Larsa countered jokingly, gazing back at her. “How fares Dalmasca?” 

“She is well,” Ashe replied. “As usual, the Giza nomads are asking for provisions during the Rains. Our petrol refineries have constantly been under attack by the sand people in the Urutan-Yensa. It’s a volatile region until now. We cannot blame the indigenous groups—perhaps I too am at fault for trespassing on their lands. We are trying our best to regulate the drills, but the Rozarrian firms are quite aggressive when it comes to the manufacturing and trading of oil.” 

“Rozarrians are indeed baffling. Apologies, would you want to sit?” 

The two of them took their seats on the queen's long divan. 

“I assume you speak from experience?” Ashe figured, tilting her head. “I heard of your arrangements with the Rozarrian princess. I received one of your letters two years ago. I was surprised to hear that you were looking for a wife.” 

“It appears so,” Larsa commented uncomfortably. He shifted his weight on his seat. “I apologize, I should have not allowed that letter passage to Dalmasca.”

“It is no problem. Tell me: how is she? I remember seeing Princess Serani during my visit to Ambervale. She was still very young, perhaps ten or eleven years old.” 

“She is…” Larsa looked around, and the words escaped him again. There was silence for a few seconds, as he had to sift through the right things to say. “I cannot say yet, for I must know her better. There is this depth to her I cannot understand.” 

“She just needs some time to open up to you.” 

Larsa nodded. “The cultural difference is an obstacle, and so is the language barrier. I am trying to reach out to her, but…hmm…whether it is a deliberate attempt to block me out or my prejudgment—I cannot say.”

“Excuse me, Excellency,” Gabranth cut in. The two monarchs looked to the judge. 

“Yes, Gabranth?” 

“I-I must find Judge Zargabaath. We will be regrouping in a few hours. I urge you find time to rest.” 

“Of course. If you will,” Larsa replied, showing a hand to the door. “Go.”

“My lord,” the judge magister acknowledge, bowing. He looked at Ashe one last time before leaving the tent. The curtains slid back in place. 

Basch felt himself useful elsewhere. The tent city was alive in the wee hours of the morning, and a thousand matters had to be dealt with. The Dalmascan soldiers began to complain of the low temperatures—some had fallen to hypothermia. The food supply had just been replenished, thanks to his master, but Basch did not know how long the stocks would last. They would need to find a place to harvest, perhaps in the hills or in the forest. He would need to talk to the Landisian scouts. 

The judge magister turned a corner and spotted a few Dalmascan soldiers sipping Bhujerban madhu by a fire. Shadows danced across their red, spotted faces as they engaged in drunken conversation. Basch slowed his pace to catch snatches of the exchange. 

“…I’m telling you, the beast was huge! A thousand feet, or taller!” Exclaimed the first one with massive upward gesticulations. “Its head peaked over the wall and leveled it as if it were nothing! Thanks to that Archadian judge and his magi, we’re safe.”

“It’s a funny thing, isn’t it?” said the second soldier. “I can’t believe we’re actually fighting alongside Archadians instead of against them. I bet my nana’s rolling in her grave. She died in the Battle of Rabanastre years ago.”

“They are not that bad,” said the third. “Only the city-dwellers have large heads. We provincials are much more sedate. Landis pales in comparison to Archades.”

That statement caught Basch’s attention. A Landisian dressed in Dalmascan army clothes? Something was definitely amiss. The judge slid inside a tent and continued to eavesdrop on the three of them. He saw their silhouettes winning out against a fire. He watched their movements like a shadow play. Their voices were muffled, but their words could still be made out. 

“Ah, yeah, you’re Archadian…or Landisian…or whatever you call yourself.”

“Landisian. We are technically Archadians, however.”

“Complications, schmomplications! What’s your name again, champ?” 

“Skeele. Skeele fon Hedenburg.” Basch saw two manly figures shake hands, and return to their original sitting positions. 

“Nice to meet you, Skeele. So glad you can join us.”

“Queen Ashelia allowed me to join the Dalmascan ranks. I am one of the fisher-folk that fled from the coast. We were the first ones to get hit by the Sea-King’s slaughter. My family and eleven others traveled a long distance to seek refuge in Rabanastre. Some of the husbands are here as well.”

“Mighty brave of you fighting. Won’t your wife be missing you?”

There was a silence. “She’s…gone.”

A pause. “Sorry for your loss.” 

“Talin was her name. She was carrying our child, and was due for birth. Queen Ashe was generous enough to let us stay in the South Plaza, and we were supposed to be transported to Balfonheim. A few days later, we got news that the aerodome there had closed off, and that flights were redirected to Archades. The ferry for the refugees got pushed back on the queue and we had no time. Talin’s water had broken. She went into labor not long after. My wife was forced to give birth behind a tavern. She suffered heavy blood losses…she could not…”

“And the babe?” 

“Safe with her uncle, thank the gods.”

“By the gods’ blessings, yes. We must fight, Skeele. For all of them.” 

“For all of them, yes…”

“You shouldn’t worry. Emperor Larsa is here now, and he’s brought in reinforcements.”

Skeele fon Hedenburg remained quiet. He simply raised his tankard and chugged the rest of his drink down his throat. 

Basch, seeing as the conversation was over, continued to the top of the slope, where three giant pyres laid burning. Dead bodies were lined up and inspected. Some were fully nude—their bodies chalky and stiff, while others were wearing their armor. Some seeq were dragging corpses of their dead comrades and tossing them into the flame. In the fire, their ashes mixed in with one another—indiscriminate of race or age. Death was truly the great equalizer.

The judge magister looked up and followed the trail of the three smoky columns. Higher into the heavens the soldiers rose, away with their dreams and hopes for the future. Five kiltia now surrounded the pyres and muttered their prayers. This was a scene Basch could never get used to, no matter how many battles he had been in. 

Also, he hoped his master would never set his eyes on this place; the judge would do his best to keep Emperor Larsa away from the atrocities of war. But for how long could he keep him away? This was no place for his master. The negotiations had to begin swiftly. 

“Gabranth,” a voice called. 

Basch looked to his right and saw Judge Zargbaath. 

The fellow magister folded his arms. “One thousand nine hundred and sixteen,” he began. “These shells are only a quarter of the bodies. Many of them still lie on the beach and in the outer courtyard.” 

The figures astounded Basch. “It has only been three days.” 

“Gabranth, I must speak to you,” Zargabaath said in a grave voice. 

Basch faced Zargabaath. “What is it?” 

“Your group held the heaviest of losses in today’s skirmish.”

“The cavalry’s right wing fell back and we were left exposed. My foot soldiers could not outrun Loemund’s army.” 

“Do you believe that’s truly the reason for their deaths? No. Judge Hausen reported to me on your doings—he told me that you deliberately fell out of the formation to aid Queen Ashelia. You even tasked some of your soldiers to cover your flight. Your group was deprived of its senior commander and could take orders from no one. In their confusion, they were crushed by the beast-men.”

Basch’s eyes widened. He had never entertained the thought. 

“Caution, Gabranth, that your heart not betray your mind.”

Basch was silenced. It was as if his tongue had been plucked out of his mouth! Zargabaath’s words filled him with such anger, but at the same time, crammed his every nook and cranny with dishonor. “It will not happen again.” 

“See that it does not,” Zargabaath nodded. “Tell me: do you have any feelings for the Queen of Dalmasca?” 

Yes, yes! Basch wished he could scream it out into the heavens! His every muscle trembled, struggled, to constrain his lips from speaking the truth. His shoulders quavered as a stream of heat rushed down his body. He loved her. He had always loved her, and he would never stop loving her. “ _No._ ” 

“Good. In this war, we do not have the luxury of feelings.”

No? His mouth had deceived him! Basch wished he could run himself into the spear of a beast-man! How could he deny it all? How could he keep on living a lie? A sinking feeling simmered in his chest and threatened to weigh him down into the bowels of the sea.

“The battle endures,” Zargabaath continued. “We will see it through to its close. If we are lucky enough, our forces should be enough to get the attention of the Sea-King. Gabranth, I pray the gods keep us courageous. I pray they keep Emperor Larsa steadfast. We will follow him, until the edges of the world. Are we agreed?” 

“Aye,” Gabranth replied. “To the edges of the world and beyond.”


	11. Loemund and Laegd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Parley with the King of the Sea.  
> An unexpected ally joins the fight against Loemund.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Sorry for the delay in posting the chapter. I am very busy working on other projects as well. I'll also be traveling around for quite some time, so please expect the chapters to be uploaded more sporadically in the next couple of weeks. Thank you for your patience. Are you enjoying the story so far? Who is your favorite character? I would want to hear from you! If you have any comments or critique, feel free to leave it at the bottom of the page. If you enjoyed the story, and want to see more, don't forget to leave a kudos as well!  
> Your input is very important to me.Thank you, and keep on reading!  
> [AIRBENDERGAL]

**Chapter 11: Loemund and Laegd**

Across the still and icy waters lay the Sea-King’s vessel. The massive longship had a curved hull and over twenty rowing benches, but no hands to row it. It seemed the waves themselves steered the great war-boat. With a single command from Loemund, the ship could have sailed in any direction, perhaps even into the eye of the wind. 

Basch and Zargabaath, on their steeds, stayed their ground on the beach as the ship pulled up to the shore. The ice plates crackled and splintered as the boat’s bow rushed forward. It glided into a stop a few moments later. Its keel had hit the shallow depths. 

Now the King of the Sea and his right hand could be seen in full clarity. Up close they were much more terrifying, and their air decreed both fear and authority.

Loemund, the Sea-King, had frostbitten skin and sunken eyes the color of the winter sky. His head was adorned with four orange corals that twisted up into a gruesome crown. Loemund’s armor was truly fit for a king. His chest plate was made of whalebones and imbued with dazzling aragonite. His appendicular armor pieces shone with the luster of oyster shells; they were as beautiful as they were shatterproof. 

The king’s devilish servant, stood over eight feet. He was a beast-man of pure muscle, with the head of an anglerfish and the body of a bronze god. He wore leathers of thick kraken hide and boots made of elephant seals ribs. He held his menacing greatsword as if it were a scepter. He could command just as easily as he could kill. 

“The Land-King has brought a great number of men,” the anglerfish said from the forecastle. 

“Ten thousand men, and more to come if this bloodshed does not cease.”

“Only a great king can command such a great army. We have seen you march them down from your great land-city.”

“It is not I who have charged them here. I serve Emperor Larsa Ferrinas Solidor, first of his name, ruler of the mighty Archadian Empire. He has arrived, and he wishes to parley before any more blood is spilled. My master is wise…as is yours, I pray.”

The servant faced his lord. “My king, negotiations. The land-king wishes to speak to you.”

The King of the Sea said nothing, only gestured a scooping motion with his crooked right hand. Anglerfish turned back to face the two judges. “My master has agreed to such talks. Bring the Land-King to the shore. Only he and Loemund shall speak. Now you must leave before my lord’s patience is tested.” 

Gabranth and Zargabaath nodded, and rode back into the inner courtyards. 

Emperor Larsa, Queen Ashe, and representatives from Dalmasca and Landis were crowding around the war table to plan their course of action. The outer courtyard had been lost to the Sea-King’s army. They had a good grasp of the terrain, plus the soldiers had lost the resolve to pitch a skirmish there. The united armies, however, had the advantage of higher ground. There was only one drawbridge left to cross into the inner fortress, and it would be drawn up, making it impossible for the enemy to cross. However, leaving the drawbridge up would also mean cutting their passage to the mountain pass and ultimately depriving them of requisitions and reinforcements. The forests to the back of the tent city could have been an option, however, they were unexplored. Even the Landisians advised not to stray into the woods for strange monsters lurked between the trees. 

“Your Excellency,” Basch began, rushing into the tent. “Loemund has agreed to meet with you.”

“Thank the gods,” Larsa huffed. “Let us go.”

“Wait,” Ashe said, getting hold of Larsa’s sleeve. “What about me?” 

“We need you protected here, Queen Ashe. Loemund wishes to speak to me.”

“Protection? You think me helpless!” Ashe seethed and yanked his arm furiously. “For the past week, all I’ve been doing is watching from the sidelines as my soldiers die. I will not stand idle as more Dalmascans fall! Larsa, you must heed me.” 

Larsa pulled himself away. “With all due respect, your grace, this Sea-King has, first and foremost, threatened my nation’s sovereignty. Landis belongs to Archadian territory. Dalmasca has done us a great favor by offering her swords, but in all matters of law, I am the one who should address this problem.”

“You would speak the law to one who believes he is above it?” Ashe rebutted. “Excellency, my ancestor King Raithwall is the very reason Loemund has returned. He wishes to take vengeance upon the dynast-king’s descendants and reclaim his magickal helmet. He is my responsibility!”

“All the more reason you should not speak with him. Do you not understand? If Loemund can identify who you are, he will not rest until you are done. He will send all the forces of the sea to locate you and annihilate you. I cannot let that happen!”

“But I am queen!” Ashe raged.

“And I am emperor!” Larsa raised his voice and slammed his fist on the war table. The pieces on the board toppled over in fright. 

A ravaged silence flew into the tent. The generals exchanged conflicted glances with the judge magisters. Ashe scowled at Larsa with a look that could have set anything on fire. The emperor stood his ground, clenching his teeth and fists. The two monarchs had a glaring match for a good ten seconds before Basch broke the tension. 

“Queen Ashe, it is only for the best,” the judge advised tenderly. 

“Don’t interrupt!” Ashe hissed. She turned back to Larsa. “You think yourself some scapegoat? If you would have yourself sacrificed upon the mount, so be it.” She marched towards her generals and they turned their attention back to the war table. Erryl and Krjn tried their best to keep up with the queen’s ramblings as she moved the pieces around indefinitely, but it was clear that all of them were still jarred from the argument. 

Larsa shook his head. He marched out of the tent and his magisters followed behind him. “Ludicrous, that woman,” he said under gritted teeth. “We must make haste before Queen Ashe takes any action. To the beach.”

The three men took flight to the beach. The longship drew closer, and so did the Sea-King and his general. Emperor Larsa had never seen a pair so hideous, so capable of making his hairs stand on their ends. It had looked like they had come out of a horror novel. Out of the pits of hell itself. And he was to parley with them. 

Now, Loemund walked out to the beak of the ship, where the bow ends and the bowsprit begins. He looked down upon them as a man looks down upon ants. He raised his left hand as if taking an oath, and then bowed lowly. “Land-King, I greet you.” The voice was small, but sounded like nails grating down a chalkboard. 

Emperor Larsa gave returned the gesture with a polite nod. “King Loemund.” Larsa’s steed swayed uneasily in its place. The man steadied the reins and hushed his steed with a kick of his boot. “Hoh!”

“You command an impressive army.” A king of few words. 

“As do you,” Larsa replied. “Our battle will remain meaningless unless we understand each other. For what reason do you fight? Why do you command your hatred upon the innocent? We have done nothing.”

“You have done everything. Many centuries ago, your great Land-King Raithwall held a battle in this very Fortress. He was a power-needy fool incapable of seeing beyond hume wants. In his greed, he stole Ran Vali, my helmet, and locked it away in the highest tower of this fortress. I must reclaim it and return peace and order to the world.”

“Peace and order?” Larsa choked. “You would have those by means of war? How?”

“It is beyond a mortal’s understanding.”

“Then make us understand. We cannot negotiate unless you tell us your terms.”

“I only ask for the helmet.” 

Basch moved over next to Emperor Larsa, so close that their chocobos pressed each other’s beaks. “My lord, the Ran Vali is a great power. I have heard stories of it as a child. In Landisian mythology, the helmet manipulates all the waters of the Naldoa. If Loemund is to get his hands on it, he would have enough power to destroy the whole of Ivalice.”

“You are a child of this land?” the anglerfish asked the judge magister. 

“Yes, I was born and raised by the sea,” Basch replied with an air of arrogance. 

“And you tore open the sigil?” 

Basch shut his mouth. He moved his chocobo away from his master as if it could have answered the question. 

Anglerfish narrowed his beady eyes. The lamp hanging off the side of his head rocked to and fro as if it had a mind of its own. “King Loemund, there is another out there. It is not this land-king nor this general who lifted the fortress seal.”

“I know. I have sensed it from the beginning,” Loemund stated, folding his arms.

Larsa gulped. “King Loemund, we only ask for peace.” 

“That is not what you truly want. I see your heart, land-king. Once it was filled with purity and hope. You have grown thorns of greed and pride. All humes are the same. You would destroy the entire world to further your selfish ambition. I will protect it from your palms.”

“And I am the villain? Am I the one who wishes to overrun the world with a beast army? Am I the one who purges innocent men, women and children for simply being human? The United Armies stand together. When you pointed your sword at my people, you pointed your sword at all of us.”

“You speak but you do not think. I have wasted enough time with you, Land-King Larsa. No, it is not you I seek. I must find one that is worthy.”

“Then who is?” Larsa pressed. 

“Only the sea can decide,” Loemund said with finality. He turned to his general and whispered something in the hole that made for Laegd’s ear. 

The king’s servant nodded and moved his fish head up and down. “Yes, my lord. I understand,” he murmured. Laegd faced the Archadians and boomed. “The talks are now over!” 

“That is not how talks work,” Basch spat. “Something must be agreed upon.”

“OUT!” Loemund thundered in a voice that caused the ice plates to crack. A blast of energy rippled from within him and made the chocobos rear. The Archadians got hold of their steeds and laboriously restrained them.

“You would dare raise your voice at the emperor!” Basch growled, reaching from the hilt of his Tournesol. 

Zargabaath spoke up. “Excellency, with all due respect, staying here would only make worse the situation. The Sea-King cannot be reasoned with.” 

Emperor Larsa nodded. He looked to Loemund, and gave him a final warning. “If you would have it this way, many of your men would die.” 

“We are already dead,” Loemund said with lifeless eyes. “We died centuries ago, when the great Land-King stole the world and made us believe it was never ours.” 

The Sea-King’s words chilled the emperor to the bones. No words could escape his lips. Larsa looked at the Sea-King one last time before turning his chocobo around. He rode away, and back into Fort Fylleborg. The judge magisters followed in his wake. The chocobos, distressed, rammed into each other unknowingly. Gabranth and Zargabaath grunted upon impact, and quickly pulled themselves aside. Useless, it was utterly useless trying to reason with Loemund! 

The longship receded back into deeper waters. From under the hull crawled out green-gills. Sharkheads and eel-men trudged out of the water and marched onto the icy beach. As soon as they made landfall, the creatures broke out into a mad rush. With astonishing speed, they covered four hundred meters of the outer courtyard within two minutes. 

“Foward!” Judge Gabranth thundered from the outer courtyard. 

Five assaulting columns of Archadian infantry rushed forth to meet the beast army at the mouth of the inner courtyards. At the point of contact, there was a metallic shock. A clamor rose, and the great cries of soldiers eddied around the base of Fort Fylleborg. 

The Dalmascan cavalry came swooping in again, this time in adjunct with Landisian scouts. In their fury for revenge, the Landisians lead the head of the wings and splintered off into three smaller groups. They rushed into the bitter melee, signing their lives to the hands of fate. 

Emperor Larsa booted his steed with all his might, rushing past the advancing parties. He rounded about the back of the lines and his eyes scanned the area. At the sight of Queen Ashe, he rode up to her, and glided his chocobo to a stop. “The negotiations have failed. Loemund’s just as mad as we expected him to be. It seems there is no alternative. We will have to fight,” Larsa explained breathlessly. 

Ashe did not answer. Her eyes were focused on the battle brewing ahead, but she was baring her teeth. A formidable silent treatment that drove the man mad. Larsa snarled and winged into the fray. No one seemed to be on his side today! 

Larsa jumped off his steed. The emperor kept his sword and shield before him, striking anyone who would come into range. He was careful and attentive, his mind running through the hundreds of techniques and footwork that he had been taught. They were simply targets, the man told himself. It was all practice. 

Two green-gills charged up to him and launched themselves at him. Larsa punched his sword right through one’s shoulder and followed it up with a vicious slash. Joyeuse tore right down a green-gill’s chest, and Larsa thought himself victorious. The success was short-lived. The second one rammed into the emperor and tackled him onto the ground. This one swiped its talons at his face. Larsa managed to block the flurry with his shield, and bashed his foe with swordbreaker. With a metallic clang, the green-gill fumbled back, and was killed by Judge Zargabaath. 

“Laegd!” Loemund called, stomping his foot. “Join them.”

“Yes, master,” the anglerfish bowed lowly. His muscles clenched, and his lantern jolted straight up like an antenna. It began to swirl with a bright, yellow light—sucking in the mist that flurried overhead. With awesome power, the anglerfish launched himself a hundred feet into the air. Midflight, he brandished his great-sword. The general rained his steel down onto a Landisian rider, splicing the man and his chocobo in equal portions. 

Basch saw the great feat. He jumped down from his chocobo, and the beast sped away. Curiously, he watched as the anglerfish battled three men at once. The infantry soldiers came at the general with their swords—Laegd was outnumbered three to one. The first soldier casted his sword on the war fish, attempting to strike him in the groin. Laegd deflected the blow with his great-sword and countered, heaving the weight of first soldier’s blade onto the second soldier’s arm. Their powers were turned against them. The second soldier was defenseless as his sword arm fell to the ground and a fountain of blood spurted out of his shoulder. 

The judge magister ran before the enemy’s blow and blocked it before the great-sword ended the life of another man. Now Basch was struggling against the burden of Laegd’s downward strike. Tournesol was shrieking as the steel grated steel. Laegd pressed forward, using the entirety of his muscly armor to crush his foe. Basch felt the weight on an entire mountain collapse on him, but he continued to fight. He steeled himself and conjured energy from within him. “Gra...vi…ga!” 

Three tendrils of the black and purple color dislodged from Basch’s nape and struck Laegd. He was thrown back and pommeled onto the ground with a sensational force. The anglerfish felt himself beat in all directions. The floor turned into the ceiling, and then into a wall. Soldiers were rushing over him and under him. They were rippling all over. “Grah!” he growled, banishing the magick. He shook his head wildly, expelling the clouding illusion. 

The judge magister flew forward and struck his foe. Un-deflected, Basch’s blow landed just below Laegd’s right nipple and tore his kraken leathers open. This roused the anglerfish. He pounced upon Basch and the two rumbled like lions fighting each other. 

“I have seen your strength, son of Landis. I have seen you fight and win!” The needle-like teeth that jutted out of Laegd’s maw came so close to Basch’s helmet that it scratched it. “Never in hundreds of years have I seen such prowess!” 

Basch wheeled sideways as Laegd’s great-sword came crashing down. The judge scrambled to his feet and tensed himself for a second strike. But Laegd hopped backwards and rifled his great-sword, drawing it back like a spear. With godly strength he hurled the heavy blade at the judge. He hunkered down. A massive silver blur nicked Basch’s helmet-horns as he dropped. One flew off and gave off an echoing ring inside his head. Like a tuning fork, it pinged. 

Laegd’s antenna moved around, swirling a gold color in its orb. Basch vaulted forward and tried to attack it, but the silver streak came swinging back at the corner of his eye. He instinctively dodged it. Laegd’s greatsword flew back into his hand like a boomerang. The antenna drooped down into its lantern-like position. 

“Good!” Laegd taunted. “Let loose your hatred! For your land! For your people!”  


“Your life ends at my blade!” Basch roared, putting his sword close to his chest. “Ragh!” Tournesol flashed red. He vaulted forward and launched a flurry of strikes at Laegd. Each slash cut through the air and set it ablaze. Jagged splinters of fire pierced the anglerfish in all angles.

Laegd crumpled and fell to the ground. Basch leapt into the air to deliver the final blow, but just as Tournesol was about to pierce through the anglerfish’s throat, he caught it. Fearlessly, Loemund’s general grabbed the tip of the sword and curled up his meaty fingers to strangle the shock.

“What?” Basch said under his teeth. 

“Enough, son of Landis, I have seen enough,” Laegd said. His voice was loud and clear, as if he had never been hurt. “I surrender.”

Basch’s eyes widened as the enemy’s open wounds healed themselves. Laegd’s black blood ran back into his body. Stunned, the judge magister reeled back and withdrew his blade. “What sorcery is this?” he asked breathlessly. 

The anglerfish got on one knee, placed both of his hands on the great-sword before him, and bowed before Basch as if paying homage to a lord. “I am Laegd, the great seaman.” 

Basch took an involuntary step back. “You are but a folk legend. My father told stories of you, and our ancestors that rode up the edge of the world.”

“All those tales are true. I have sailed from the Beyond to reach Ivalice. Our ships found refuge on the shores of Landis. Upon the cliffs, we built this very fortress. We fought a great battle with King Raithwall against the King of the Sea. I was taken as a prisoner of war. Loemund twisted my features into a hideous creature, and I was beaten into servitude. I have been his right hand for a thousand years. Now, I pledge my allegiance to you.”

“Why?” 

“For I have found a greater purpose to serve,” Laegd said, rising from his knee. “You, Judge Magister Gabranth—whose real name I shall not speak—are a true descendant of the seamen. Your strength and compassion have moved me into bondage. I shall be your sword and strike wherever you command.” 

“No,” the judge cut in. 

Laegd gave him a confused look. 

“You shall be my equal,” Basch exacted. “We shall fight for Landis, together.”


	12. Beguilement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in Archades, Princess Serani finds herself to be exceptionally bored and lonely.  
> Idle hands are the devil's playthings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A breather from the noise and violence. Back to the realm of political scheming.  
> I find myself better at it everyday. Haha! Anyway, just a short chapter on Princess Serani and her struggle in a foreign land. Maybe some of you have experienced homesickness? It is true that whenever we are out somewhere strange, we will always seek out the familiar. When people tempt you with the comforts of home, it's hard to say no.  
> What do you think of Serani? Send me your thoughts.  
> Airbendergal

**CHAPTER 12: BEGUILEMENT**

The days dwindled into weeks, and Princess Serani Margrace found herself exceptionally bored and lonely. There was no one to talk to in the palace. None she could freely express herself to, at least. Everyone from the senators down to the maidservants gave her the same type of stare—the looks of scientists examining a test subject. Their eyes—boggled; their mouths—slightly open! And her response? An equally puzzled gaze. In the land of fair-haired, pink-skinned, and blue-eyed men and women, she felt herself a scandal. She felt the hard, clipping of consonants and the purring of her ‘r’s a malignance to the soft Archadian accent.

There was a lack of women, as well. The only women were the maidservants: the kind old maid Madame Wahl, Regina, and Bethany—she had come to know them by name. They were all too polite, too stiff, and somewhat hesitant to approach her. She missed the laughter of her many sisters, and the raucous air of the Palace of Ambervale. She missed the strong perfumes, the rich dyes of Rozarrian dresses, the parties and dances from dusk to dawn, and the erratic sound of the _bandir-targhul_ strumming away on the oud. She missed the Rozarrian men—passionate in both words and kisses—as they fought for her affection. 

Now it was all quiet, all gone. Even her husband-to-be was away. 

And so began the daily routine. She woke up on her Rozarrian canopy bed realizing it was bitterly cold. Even the stylized windows could not hide the truth: Serani was trapped in a city choked with buildings and smoke. She missed the fresh, strong winds that blew across the Rozarrian plains, and the warm sunshine. She would cry, but only allow herself ten minutes. She would apply her own make-up, and then call for the maidservants to help her get dressed. She would wear the tight and showy Archadian dresses, and she’d insist on hiding her skin. She would sit at the long breakfast table alone, and eat bland food that held no place in her palate. She would, after, spend hours at the piano—but even music could not sate her desire to return to Rozarria.

Serani went for a stroll that afternoon in the gardens with a guard, who paced five steps behind her. The pond was the only place she could reflect. She sat by the water and watched as water lilies swayed around in an endless slow dance. She looked down at her rippling face. “Is this truly my purpose?” she asked. 

“You could achieve so much more,” a voice said from behind her. 

Another figure appeared on the water’s reflection—a face so pale Serani thought it was a ghost. The princess fumbled forward in fright, almost falling into the water, but an arm caught her. A thin, wrinkly arm. “Senator Lebleau,” she began. 

The senator released her arm. “I had no intentions of frightening you, Serani-Tashir. I am sorry,” he apologized, keeping his head low. 

“No worries,” Serani replied, gesturing for the man to lift his head. 

An ambivalent smile greeted her. “I am sure you are finding Archades a wonderful place,” Lebleau supposed, and beamed even brighter.

“It is…different,” she replied, quoting Larsa. The princess stood and patted her dress. There were wet stains all over its skirt. “What do you want? I am busy at the moment.” And she remembered her lord’s harsh reminder not to entertain any of their requests.

“Busy? Watching the koi fish?” 

“Yes.” 

Lebleau sighed and shrugged. He turned around and began to walk away. “Oh dear, oh dear…then I guess you will not have time to hear about Rami, then. ‘Tis a shame.”

“Wait!” she cried in a voice louder than expected. 

The senator stopped in his place, turned on his heels to face the princess, and pouted. “Our future empress—her heart has no place for the past. She must move forward, to the bright future, to a new peace in Ivalice.” 

Serani knitted her brows. “Leave us for a moment,” she ordered her guard.

The guard nodded and disappeared into the thick brush. 

“How do you know about Rami?” she asked Lebleau in a shaking voice. 

“The senate hears everything, even the slightest of whispers. How do you think we know about Emperor Larsa’s dealings with the Dalmascan insurgents many years ago? How do you think we know about his dalliance with the sky pirate woman before she suddenly disappeared? We keep our tongues tied for the good of the Empire. She, above all, must be served.” 

The insurgents? The sky pirate woman? All these thoughts made her head spin! And they knew about him, about Rami! “Ur-Yahliq, tashara!” she slurred. _Sons of snakes, all of you!_

“We will not let the emperor know about your previous coquetry with the Lord Rami Al-Kashir. We fear it would only worsen the current situation,” Lebleau explained, shaking his head disappointedly. 

“This is all nonsense,” Serani spat, looking away. 

“Nonsense? Feigning innocence and unlearning a language you know by heart—now that is nonsense!” Lebleau rebutted. “Emperor Larsa may believe your docile charade, but not I. I know everything about you, and I know everything about Lord Rami.” 

Rami! The name split her eardrums and filled her heart with longing. 

“You could see him this one time. No, I shall be generous. You may see him whenever you please.”

That caught her attention. Serani’s eyes shot up. “Is this some sick joke that you Archadians play?” she asked beneath clenched teeth. “Is this how this nation accomplishes its tasks? I do not want to be part of this deranged machination.” 

“But, my dear, you are already part of the machine. You will soon be its engine. In a month, you are to be wed to Emperor Larsa. You will produce him heirs—children with your dark, wild hair and your clay skin. They will not look Archadian, but they will sit on that throne. And you will live the rest of your life with regrets of abandoning your homeland and your lover. But this can all be fixed, all be arranged, you see.” 

“What is it you ask of me?”

“It is simple. In a month, you will be returning to Ambervale with Emperor Larsa to engage in talks with the Rozarrian Trade Minister. You will persuade your uncle to embargo all products of the Inbar Corporation.”

“A business deal,” Serani figured. “You want to kill your competition.”

“Inbar is the second largest producer of superconductors in all of Ivalice, next to the Lebleau Industry. Weapons technology has plummeted a great deal ever since your husband’s ascent to the throne. My family once held account of Draklor Laboratories, and now it is non-existent. We are tottering on the brink of poverty, your grace, and I will not allow the Lebleaus to fall into shame.” 

“Shame?” Serani echoed. “If Larsa finds out that I have been meeting up with Lord Rami, I shall be put to shame!” 

“He need not know. It’s all part of the fun, isn’t it?” Lebleau asked, quite excitedly. 

“I will not do it,” she said hesitatingly.

“Oh? But you will,” Lebleau assured, wagging his finger. “Poor Rami’s already here to meet you. We cannot simply send him all the way back to Ambervale.” 

“Serani.” Another voice drifted in. 

The princess looked around, and her heart started running like there was no tomorrow. Was it a dream, a figment of her imagination? The voice repeated her name, and she looked towards the hedges. A figure slid out from behind them: a Rozarrian man, tall and bulky, with long, dark locks tied in a ponytail. 

“Rami?” 

“Serani!”

“Rami! Oh gods!” She cried, running into his arms. Serani basked in the warmth of his sweet embrace and she found herself breaking down into tears. Her lover bathed her in kisses, passionate ones on the cheeks and lips and neck. The princess felt herself light up all of a sudden. 

“Qandouk no yashum par soud sarim, ma balqesh,” he whispered, as his warm breath brushed against her ear. _Distance will not keep me away from you, my love._

“Take me with you, Rami,” she begged him. “I cannot bare to live here forever.”

His large hands slid down her arms and he squeezed her palms. “Come with me,” he beckoned in a honeyed voice, tugging her hand. 

“Where are we going?” asked the princess.

Rami beamed a wolfish grin, and in a raspy voice he replied. “Away.”

Serani tried to fight it all, but her heart gave way. She found herself running with Rami, faster and faster, streaking past the hedges and the fountains. Faster and faster still, she ran not knowing where they were headed. But she didn’t mind. She could run forever—as long as it was with him.


	13. The Peace Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashe, Basch and Laegd venture deeper into the fortress.  
> The Peace Tree—The Song of Raithwall—Basch's confession.  
> The mettle makes the man. The metal unmakes him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! What's up? I bet all of you are just excited as I am for the FINAL FANTASY XII HD REMASTER.  
> Hearing news of it gives me so much life. The resurgence of everything FFXII brings tears to my eyes.   
> I'm so excited to see everyone in glorious HD. Oh man! It's going to be amazing!  
> That aside, here's a new chapter. Sorry it took quite long to patch up. I directed my attention to my manuscript. Finished it yesterday and now I'm in contact with a copyeditor. Had to finish that job first because I'm leaving for a while, and won't be back until next week. The continuation should be up by then. Meanwhile, enjoy this chapter!  
> [AIRBENDERGAL]

**CHAPTER 13: THE PEACE TREE**

King Loemund was deprived of his right hand, and such occurrence won the united armies a much-needed respite. No one spotted the Sea-King’s longship for two days. The mist cleared out over the horizon, and one could see the line where the sky touched the sea. Bodies were collected and burnt. Requisitions were stocked. New trenches and bulwarks were constructed. A courier from Archades had come in with five carts of hi-potions—enough to heal many that had been injured in the skirmishes. 

“Drink, please,” Larsa insisted, kneeling down next to a wounded Dalmascan soldier. The emperor passed him a hi-potion. The warrior’s hand wavered in the air of a second, trying to feel where the potion was. When he finally had a grip of it, Larsa asked. “What is your name?”

The man suffered heavy trauma on the side of his head. He had an unsightly, bulging black eye. “Renn…” he spoke, revealing that he no longer had two front teeth. 

“Do you have family, Renn?” 

The soldier placed the bottle to his lips, and chugged down the drink in three big gulps. “Two daughters…” he said before breaking out into a coughing fit. 

“You will return to them soon,” Larsa promised, putting a hand to the man’s shoulder. “You honor Dalmasca with your service. Take your rest.” 

A voice crept in from behind him. “Larsa, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

From his shoulder, the emperor could see Queen Ashe’s figure. He got to his feet, dusting off the dirt on his tunic. There was another person behind her. It was a soldier donned in Dalmascan armor, but as he spoke his pronunciation gave way to another tongue. “Emperor Larsa,” the man greeted, going on one knee.

“Rise,” Larsa ordered gently. He sized this fighter up. 

“This is Skeele fon Hedenburg, one of the refugees who fled to Rabanastre,” Ashe explained, guiding the soldier in front of her. The two men now stood before each other, and she felt an unexplained tension between the Archadians. 

“The reinforcements came just when we needed it, Excellency.” The way Skeele spoke sounded hardly thankful, sarcastic even. 

Larsa nodded politely. “I would not abandon my peo—”

“—however, it was not enough to save Talin.” The words were delivered poisonously.

“What of your spouse?” Ashe broke in. 

“Your grace, she is gone. Died of childbirth,” Skeele said, keeping heated eyes on his emperor. “We were to be transported to Balfonheim. We got news that the aerodome closed, and the sky-ferry’s flight was pushed back to the end of the queue. The refugees could not make it on time. Talin was forced to give birth under the most hideous circumstances.” 

“I am sorry,” Larsa apologized. “I will see to it that your family is compensated.” 

“I do not want gil!” Skeele spat. “I want my wife back.”

“Skeele!” Ashe hissed as the refugee feinted a punch. 

The soldier, with white knuckles, turned about and entered a tent. There was a pained scream, then some clamorous din. Execrations. Crashing sounds. A screech, and a cat came running out of the curtains.

Larsa sighed. “I could not help him,” he muttered with sagging shoulders. 

“You cannot save all of them,” Ashe stated tiredly. “We can only try to save as much as we can.”

“Excellency, would you want us to deal with the mad man?” another voice drifted in. It was a judge in blued steel armor. The design seemed like knock-off magister covering, but it was more bulbous and unflattering. 

“Grahm. Leave him be,” Larsa instructed. “His anger is reasonable.”

“We will cut down anyone who opposes you,” Grahm assured him, sheathing his blade. “Say but one word, and his life will end at my sword.” The faux judge made his exit known with a quirky sword-salute. He waddled away. 

“Is he a judge magister?” asked Ashe, tilting his head.

“No. He’s one of Senator Granch’s lackeys, Grahm. Their group arrived with the hi-potions yesterday. They’re to protect me.”

“You are awfully well-guarded,” Ashe mused. “And your worth?” 

“An estimate of twelve billion gil, give or take,” Larsa replied wittily.

 

* * * * * 

“Gabranth, we must be wary of Granch’s men,” Zargabaath told his colleague. “You understand that the senator does not see eye-to-eye with our master about many matters. You were not there during the high tea. I saw the malignant stew brewing in Granch’s eyes. He was thinking ill of the emperor.”

“Aye,” Gabranth agreed. 

“After Vayne Solidor’s death, Lord Larsa had the chance to abolish the senate. Instead, he chose to reinstate it with the very same crows that feasted on Lord Gramis’ corpse. A fatal error. We cannot blame the emperor. He was but a boy. Inexperienced.”

“I’ll look further into these mercenaries’ backgrounds. Intimidate them if I must. You’re right. This opportunity could be a chance for retribution.” 

There was a change of topic when the anglerfish ambled towards them. “Will he help us, this beast-man?” Zargabaath inquired.

“His name is Laegd,” Basch corrected. “And yes, he’s to bring us into the fortress. His people—the seamen of legend—built this very rock centuries ago. They fought with the Dynast-King against Loemund. Laegd knows his master’s weakness.” 

“How do you know he will not turncoat? He has already betrayed the Sea-King.”

“He did not wish to serve him in the first place. Laegd was beat into servitude. He has found a greater purpose to serve. He will aid us.”

“Gabranth,” Laegd greeted. His features were now less demonic. His eyeballs were no longer the black beads. They were growing irises. His needle-like teeth had receded inside his mouth, and there were tufts of hair growing from his scalp. “Her majesty is ready. Shall we go?”

Gabranth looked determinedly at Zargabaath. There was a victorious feeling swelling within him, as if he had proved his fellow magister wrong. “Tell our master to take his rest. Queen Ashe and I will go deeper into the fort.” 

“Remember my words, Gabranth,” Zargabaath cautioned, reaching out his arm. The two judges shook hands firmly before parting ways. “Godspeed.”

Laegd, Ashe and Basch made their way towards the inner courtyards. The two humes were mounted on steeds, while the great anglerfish vaulted the distance using his godly strength and speed. 

Now, the three of them ascended to the third tier of the fortress. They were greeted by a third, small courtyard. The place was circled with broken colonnades. In the middle of the pillars, a massive willow tree sat. The great wood was unlike anything they had ever seen. Its vast trunk was five times the size of a normal willow, and its tresses pulsed with a faint white, mirroring the stars.

The two humes dismounted their chocobos.

“The Peace Tree,” Laegd began. “It was planted here when the seamen signed the pact with the Land-King Raithwall.” 

“My ancestor,” Ashe said proudly. 

“So it was you who opened the gates,” Laegd figured. “You are his descendant?”

“She is not only that,” Basch intervened. “She too, brought a new peace to Ivalice. Queen Ashelia destroyed the Sun-Cryst and put an end to one of the most terrible dictators of our time. I speak of Vayne Solidor.”

Laegd, interest piqued, continued his inquiry. “Have you blood of the seamen?” 

“I do not believe so,” Ashe replied. “I was born to a Dalmascan father, as was he to his father before him. I have Bhujerban blood. My mother is related to Halim Ondore IV, though that name must be meaningless to you. However, Judge Gabranth is a proud Landisian. His father sailed the high seas, and Gabranth accompanied him as a boy. Isn’t that right, your honor?”

Basch was pleasantly surprised that she had remembered those facts. “Yes.” 

“The Peace Tree came from the Beyond. We brought it to Ivalice. Come, there is a tablet which I wish to show you,” Laegd beckoned, leading the way. The three of them circled around the tree. The great willow’s roots irreverently cut through the stone. The fortress had given way to the wood. 

Ashe picked her way through the leafy curtains. Like gossamers, they slid through her palms. Starlit wisps fell off the tips of her fingers and, like feathers, drifted down to the earth. She looked back at Basch and beamed him a radiant smile. “This is amazing!” she commented. “Its beauty is beyond words.” 

Gabranth simply nodded. 

“So is yours,” Basch muttered in a voice only he could hear. 

“Behold, the tablet!” Laegd declared, pointing to the vast trunk. There was a small shrine carved into the heart of the tree. A crystal tablet lay shining on a pedestal. It was no larger than a book. Upon closer inspection, there were inscriptions. Neither Ashe nor Basch could decipher its ancient language, but the anglerfish knew the text by heart. Like a balladeer, he sung the words on the slab:  
__  
“The golden king comes, he comes like the day;  
His mane is the sun;  
With each ride he brings light;  
O Hail Raithwall, Dynast-King true,  
Bringer of Peace in Ivalice!  
Faster he rides!  
The dawn grows close with each step.  
Take heed upon thy knee, mortals!  
For peace he rides!  
The dawn grows close with each step.  
An allegiance is pitched.  
The seamen have responded.  
So have the great states:  
Archadia, and Rozarria, and Nabradia.  
For peace he rides, Dynast-King Raithwall!  
One land remains uncertain:  
Naldoa, whose nation hovers over the sea.  
Their resolve wavers; her ruler is aghast!  
Alack! The mighty Loemund:  
Magus who crafts the tides of the world!  
Magus who crafts the Ran Vali!  
Alack! The mighty Loemund’s ire!  
He has become death; he would destroy the world!  
The Galtean Alliance—for peace they ride!  
Day turns into night! War veils the Naldoa!  
A great battle ensues. The clamor! The clash!  
Loemund wears his fated Ran Vali! The fated nethicite!  
The sea quavers, it splits! The seabeds run dry!  
The Naldoans flee between two carpets of water.  
The night turns into day! The great Raithwall arrives!  
He strikes the harbinger Loemund.  
The Ran Vali is stolen!  
The sea quavers, it spills!  
The floating land crashes into the sea!  
Upon the men, it wallops!  
The tides overrun Loemund’s charge.  
The nation and her people are lost!  
Defeated, the great magus flees.  
He rides into the waters and takes on a new crown.  
The Sea-King Loemund!  
He has become death; he would destroy the world!” 

The song moved Ashe into action. There was a deep feeling brewing in her chest. What the anglerfish said but strengthened her belief—by the circumstances of birth, she was the one responsible for Loemund. She would have to save the world from the Sea-King. “Where is the Ran Vali now, Laegd?”

Laegd pointed skywards, to where the cliffs touched the constellations. Hanging above the great fortress was a floating structure. Its windows mimicked one of a great cathedral. It dipped and rose beyond a bank of clouds. “We call it the Core, and in its vestige lies the Sea-King’s helmet. The Ran Vali bears a stone, the purest of nethicite. That is how Loemund managed to ward off the magick churning the waters and split the sea.” 

“Perhaps it is the same cause of the jagds,” Basch reasoned. “If we were to get that helmet out of the place, we could bring in the dreadnoughts. Such barbaric warfare cannot be sustained for much longer. We would need aerial support soon.”

“I agree,” nodded Ashe. “How can we reach the Core?”

“Even I am uncertain. King Raithwall himself caused the Core’s flight. Since you are his descendant, majesty, perhaps you could undo his deed,” Laegd said. “Be cautious. If Loemund reaches it before we do, then it would mean the end of Ivalice as we know it. Now, I’ll inspect the catacombs and clear it before we make our way further into the below.”

“There are catacombs here?”

“Yes, below the outer courtyard. There is a passageway through that access beyond the pillars. Shall we venture there, you may see where the great seamen are buried,” Laegd expounded in a sad voice. “They are the ones who have perished. I should have died with them, but the winds coursed me another path. To Loemund I strayed. The ones who stayed are fortunate.”

With that, the anglerfish bounded away. Basch and Ashe were left alone. 

Swiftly, the judge reached for his helmet and stripped it off. Ashe’s mouth opened but a bit. She remembered there was a man under all that metal. At the sight of his face, she remembered Basch. The Dalmascan veteran. Her sword, her protector. Though, there was something different about him. He had aged greatly. His face was coarse and porous. There were wrinkles on his forehead and on the sides of his eyes. Tangled between his hay hairs were streaks of grey. One thing remained the same—the earnest look in his eyes. She felt safe and understood. 

“Gabranth, what are you doing?” she asked, trembling.

“Queen Ashelia, I have served both Dalmasca and Archadia,” Basch began.

“That you have, ser…” Her eyes were still. 

“I cannot help but confess…” Basch felt his heart hammering the ribs of his chest. Would he say it? If there were any time to confess his love, it would be now! 

“Say your peace…” she drawled uncertainly.

“I have neglected Dalmasca. Archadia is not mine to call home. I wear my brother’s armor and title, but for how long shall I hide under his name? ‘Tis another Nalbina! I am trapped in these invisible chains.”

“You made a promise to your brother…and Larsa needs you.” 

“Make no mistake, Emperor Larsa is a master I would serve until my last breath…however…there are times when I wish I could’ve stayed. With Vaan and Penelo. With Kytes and Filo. With you.”

You? Ashe thought. The words were delivered with such honesty that her skin crawled. “Basch, you know as well I as I that one cannot serve two masters,” Ashe sighed, shaking her head. “Keep in Archadia, with Larsa. You honor Noah and Dalmasca with your service. You honor me with your deeds.”

Her words fell on deaf ears. “Free me,” Basch begged, holding both of her hands. They were soft. Delicate. But she sooner resisted with a steely tensing. Ashe jerked one hand out of his grasp. 

“Gabranth, we cannot…” the queen stammered, yet she never held back her gaze on him. Slowly, she raised her free hand and touched the judge’s face. She felt his scar. It was the reminder of his treachery, of his failures. Would she give him another? “We…you…Rasler, he…”

“Rasler is gone, but I am here. I can protect you.” Unintentional brashness? Recklessness? He cared not. He gave her no respite. Before she could even say anything, Basch leaned in and pressed his lips against hers. 

Ashe’s eyes shot open at his unexpected boldness. She tasted coal and rust. 

Basch pulled away and his lips went cold. Wind streamed into his mouth as he breathed for air. Victory, the greatest victory of his life! He was a champion. And Ashe—she surely must have shared the triumph! 

Sounds of the queen’s heavy pants wafted in. Yes, she had liked it, Basch mused. Perhaps she wanted more. “Come,” he said eagerly. The man put his arms around her. Yes, he would hold her close. His gloves went down her back curiously. Ashe’s hands went to his face. Her palms were silk as she felt his cheek. His body tingled. Sweet ecstasy! Pure rapture!

Thwack! A moment later, an electrifying jolt ran down the side of his neck. She smashed his face. He felt his nose turn sideways. 

“How dare you bring Rasler into this!” She seethed, utterly tangled in shock. There were tears in her eyes, and it was not long before she broke. Ashe banged his chest plate with her fist madly, as if driving daggers through his heart. “How—dare—you!”

Basch was plucked out of his fantasy. “What?” He was pushed rearward with utter force. He couldn’t control it. The joints on his armor stiffed and he fell all the way back. _Did I act too soon?_

The mettle makes the man. 

“Now I see you, Gabranth!” Ashe snarled, wiping her mouth with her forearm. “Frustrated pervert! You hide in that judge armor, scheming of your next caprices! You are a stranger to me!” 

The metal unmakes him.


	14. The Siege

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sails on the horizon. A siege. A deception.  
> Ashe takes fate into her own hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Thank you for patiently waiting. I just came back from a very eye-opening trip to Thailand. The culture and craftsmanship there are amazing. Fashion bazaars, ancient city ruins, spicy food, temples and elephants! I'm sure to incorporate my learnings there into the story. I'm grateful for your continuing support. Please enjoy this chapter. I'm looking forward to hearing more of your comments and critique.
> 
> P.S. I'm very excited with the news from FFXII developer, Mr. Kato, that their team is considering more Ivalice games if the reception of the Zodiac Age is good. Please, let's keep on supporting that cause through writing and art so that we may soon get the FF12 sequel/ Ivalice game of our dreams! I only pray they turn their eyes towards Fortress, since they've built a substantial amount of content on it. But I'm not being picky. Any Ivalice game that connects from FFXII is always welcomed by me. Teehee!

**Chapter 14: The Siege**

“Sails!”

The horizon was laden with countless numbers of ships. With unfailing rapidity, the fleet cruised windward. The gales carried their fury and strewed them across the waters. Their white sails grew in size as they moved towards Fort Fylleborg. And there, leading the charge was the King of the Sea. 

“Thirty ships, majesties,” declared Zargabaath. He drew away his telescope. 

“Where could the sea-king have gathered such a force?” asked Ashe. 

Laegd spoke. “From the bowels of the Naldoa. These ships have been resurfaced. They once belonged to men lost at sea. The powerful waves overthrew their boats. These ships keeled over with their crew. Now, the wayward sailors serve the water’s master.”

The thought displeased Basch. At the back of his mind, a scene played—of a man sailing into the high seas. Of a man swallowed by a mountain of water. He cringed, and balled a fist. 

“Queen Ashe, we must seek you shelter in the fortress. Come,” Larsa beckoned. 

“No,” Ashe replied in a tone poisonously delivered. “I have played my damsel role long enough. I shan’t stand idle. I will fight alongside my people.”

“I feared you’d say that,” Larsa sighed. He looked to Basch and gave him a nod.

The judge magister reciprocated the gesture. He ordered in two Imperial gunners, and they positioned themselves in front of Ashe. The soldiers closed in, and the queen took an involuntary step back. “What is the meaning of this?” she fumed, directing her anger at Basch. 

“I am taking you prisoner for your own safety,” Larsa answered from his shoulder. 

“My generals would not agree to this!” Ashe cried, slapping away one of the gunner’s hands as he tried to get hold of her. 

Eyes still on the horizon, the emperor confuted. “On the contrary, they support this endeavor. General Erryl and Krjn have expressed their concern for her majesty’s wellbeing, as have we. You’re to be kept in the hold until this skirmish is over.” 

“It will only be over until I end Loemund!” Ashe raged. 

Larsa turned on his heels and glared at her. Ashe caught a haunting glimmer of Vayne Solidor. “You think yourself some political saint. In all truth, my lady, you are not indestructible. You bleed just as we. I would not forgive myself if anything were to happen to you.” Slick, straight to the point. The words cut her up like a knife. 

Ashe closed her eyes and exhaled deeply. “Fine,” she agreed, acknowledging defeat. 

“Thank you, your grace.” Larsa watched as she turned about. Ashe looked at him one last time with irritated eyes. The two gunners lead her to a stairwell, and the three of them disappeared down the hatch. “The plans?” 

The waters gamboled under the prows of the ships as they made land. Upon the shallow reach did the bestial soldiers pounce, dropping into the water and crawling onto the beach. With them, they shouldered large ladders, the size of thirty men stacked upon each other. The ladders were made out of long driftwood, and sturdy enough to be stepped on by ten great men without breaking.

“We must set fire to the ships, and destroy those ladders,” Gabranth decided. “However, we can’t leave our lines exposed. Bringing the troops out there would be too much of a risk. I say we ride it out here in the high ground. The beast men have no archers. They cannot pass the ditch. We shall take them by arrow. Cut down whoever will cross.” 

General Erryl marched up to them. “Is the queen safe?” 

“Yes, she’s below ground,” Gabranth told the bangaa. 

“Good. What of the armies?” 

“We shall bring the melee here. Those beasts cannot pass the drawbridge. Their only point of access is through the battlements. They intend to lay siege to the fortress. However, we’ll need to find a way to destroy the longboats.”

“My riders will do,” Erryl stated with a flick of his tongue. “Swiftly, we’ll ride to the beach and set fire to the sails. The enemies would be trapped, and we could flank them. We must make haste, however, for they must not see us coming. We’ll hide in the mountain crags and charge into the fray once the time is right. Gabranth, you must confuse them.”

“Sending you off alone would be suicide.”

“If one does not sacrifice, it would be mass genocide.”

Gabranth understood the lizard’s plight. “Very well. Take the cavalry. Sweep the outer courtyard with all of Faram’s might.” The two veterans shook hands before Erryl hopped on his mount and sped away. 

“Archers! Gunners!” Zargabaath thundered. 

The ranged warriors gained their positions upon the ramparts. The gunners took the first row. A hundred of them stood shoulder to shoulder. Two lines of archers were set behind them. Their sheaves were planted beside their knees. Each bowman had twenty arrows.

“What would you have me do?” Larsa asked Gabranth. 

“Stay with the infantry, sire,” Basch replied. “We need reinforcements should they manage to break through into the inner courtyards.” 

The emperor nodded. Zargabaath accompanied their master, and the two men melted into the silver ranks. 

General Erryl and a cavalry of one hundred men zoomed across the lone drawbridge. Their gallops rumbled like the flushing of a flood. Out of the second tier they rode, crossing a land bridge into the mountain pass. The crowns of trees crackled as the cavalry disappeared into the greenery. 

Now, Basch could see the beast-men massing as they stormed through the breach. The siege ladders came in one by one. He counted them. Seven. Eight. Nine. More of the Sea-King’s forces spilled out into the courtyard. 

“Guns at the ready! Arrows at the ready!” Zargabaath cried.

A hundred guns clicked. Two hundred bowstrings were drawn all at once. 

“Fire!” The storm came down in a fatal rain. Indiscriminate of whom to hit, archers released their arrows in a flurry of death. The guns clapped like cannons. Bullets pierced through beasts without thinking. 

Yet, the mindless army carried on. The foes cast their wooden steps upon the second tier’s walls. Seven. Eight. Nine of them now hit the bulwarks. Like rats, messes of bestial soldiers scampered up the steps. The archers could see nothing but the enemies sweeping over the squares. Some gunners lost their footing as beasts grabbed the shooters and tossed them over the wall. Arrows were directed forward instead of up. 

Zargabaath and two others grabbed the holds of the ladders and pushed one away. With mighty force, the wooden steps fell back. The ladder snapped in half and seven beast men spiraled down into a black abyss. Eight.

Seven. Another ladder was crushed under the weight of five shark-heads. In their hurry to mount the wall, the steps broke below their feet. Still, the many beasts surged upwards. They were clambering and climbing atop one another at a mad attempt to gain entry to the inner courtyard. Gunners thrust their nozzles at their gruesome foes and shot them point blank. Some were overrun with green-gills. Others were disemboweled by eel-men. 

The first wave of Archadian infantry came charging up the battlements, headed by Judge Hausen. The foot soldiers interlocked their steps and shields, coming in like a great mountain of steel. Sharkheads tossed themselves at the silver wall, as crashing boulders do, hoping to break the formation. 

“Hold fast!” Judge Hausen ordered over the clanging of steel. The soldiers at the head of the columns locked their knees and elbows, straining against the brutal force of the Sea-King’s men. 

Basch, slashing through a green-gill, crashed into a crenellation. He was met by a gruesome eel-man, who attempted to snap his neck. Gabranth swerved, escaping by an inch. He thrust his sword right between its eyes. The eel fell back, and knocked two beasts below him. “Zargabaath!”

“Gabranth!” Zargabaath replied, meeting him. “What are you doing?”

The Landisian wrapped rope around his waist. Quickly, he tangled his crotch in it, and the thick string supported his entire lower body. Over, under, Basch slipped it into a figure-of-eight knot. Just as his father had taught him. Safe, secure, as riggings were to sails. “Hold this. Never let go.” 

Zargabaath clenched the rope tight with both hands. “You are mad!” he yelled as Basch bounded from the rampart. He flew, straight down, and the rope stiffened into a straight line. 

Catching momentum, swinging vertically, Gabranth vaulted across the wall. Upside-down turned right side-up. It was a gallantry as daring as it was reckless. Basch brandished his Tournesol. As a hurricane destroys everything in its path, so did Judge Gabranth tear up the siege ladders. He came at the first one and slashed all the way through, cutting between the eleventh and the twelfth step. Six. He blazed through another. Five. Yet another. Four. The reach of his rope stopped at the third. Grappling a green-gill, Basch sent the foe spinning and falling before it could have killed an Imperial. 

“Pull up!” Gabranth cried to his fellow judge. He felt rope chafe his crotch. The Landisian wheeled around and planted his feet against the wall. Vertically he climbed, aided by the lift of the rope. The howls and screeches of beast-men eddied behind him. Their cries turned into whimper as more clouds of arrows rained on them. Then came the tumultuous sound of the cavalry. 

* * * * 

Ashe braced herself as their column rode into enemy lines. She could barely see past the visor of her helmet. The world weltered endlessly before her. The leathers she donned smelled as if it had never been washed. Scrunching her nose, she pressed on. One wrong move and she could be exposed. 

Eel-men came at the chocobos relentlessly. Riders were being plucked out from their steeds. The viera racing alongside her suddenly disappeared from the queen’s sight. The chocobo now had no rider, and was veering off into a mess of green-gills. The kelp-colored beasts launched themselves on it and tore it to death. 

The advancing cavalry broke through the breach and reached the beach. Unguarded and swaying around like sitting ducks, the ships were moored. White sails—some luffed while others were furled—lay resting in the doldrums. Only three groups of beast-men guarded the boats. At the sight of the riders, they broke into madness. Stone axes raised, Sharkheads took forth. The cavalry broke up into three columns, picking out the front of enemy lines. 

“Hya!” Ashe tore herself away from the main block. She rode to the direction of the largest ship. Kept her eyes on its captain, Loemund—the King of the Sea, her great adversary. An eel-man leapt at her, but before it could even reach her, she turned towards him and sheared its head right off its shoulders. A group of green-gills succeeded the eel. Fast, ferocious, they vaulted. None of them could scratch Ashe’s skin. Narrowing her gaze, she shouted. “Thundaga!” 

Forks of lightning flashed from her chest and jumped onto the green goblins. Sharp white wisps encased them and sent them scrambling away. Ashe booted her mighty steed. It leapt over a twitching beast-man, knocking him over like an empty bottle. The chocobo throttled across the sand, and the queen snapped the reins as if it would go any faster. 

The Sea-King lay restive—almost sacredly—as he waited upon the bow. He watched the entire ordeal as if it were merely a mummer’s act. Shoulders up, arms crossed, Loemund was a monument that stood the test of time. 

Now riders joined Ashe. In no time they were all overtaking her, rushing towards Loemund’s longboat. They raised their swords and voices. Torches took to the sky. Sudden envy steamed within her. If there were anyone to finish the king off, it should be her! “Stop!” Ashe ordered the Dalmascans around her. They heeded her not. No soldier would take orders from a woman in poor leathers. “Stop!” 

There was a sudden, powerful force from her right. The world turn sideways. Ashe’s helmet hit the ground with terrible force, and a metallic clang winded around inside her ears. Piercing, shrieking like a banshee it was. Ashe reached for her helmet and tore it off. The cold winds rushed in, and so did the cacophony of battle. From her place on the ground, she saw smoke stacking up to the skies. A massive wild fire won out against the horizon. 

Now Loemund, King of the Sea, moved his hands in massive gesticulations. Swell on swell his magicks moved, controlling the tide. The water receded, and so did the ships. They drew back into deeper waters, whose color matches that of the evening sky. Whitecaps curled and waves bashed the shore. Some riders were sucked by the undertow; others struck the water with their blades. 

Ashe, disoriented, scrambled to her feet. She viciously looked around to get her bearings. There were massive men on birds fighting beast around her. A spear shaft whisked past the side of her head, missing her by a foot. Before her, a soldier dropped to the ground lifelessly. 

The queen drew her blade and launched herself onto the first green-gill she saw. Nailing him in the neck, she lashed out at a second beast-man. Then a third. Now the green was coming in all directions. Ashe conjured a magick paling around her. The gills pounced, but rebounded off her shining wall. In one great blow she attacked two beasts at once, but two more came forth. They were rushing around her. Grabbing her. Overtaking. Climbing all over her. They covered her in a mountain of thrashing limbs. The last thing she saw was the pale sky before her consciousness eddied away.


	15. Prudence

**CHAPTER 15: PRUDENCE**

She remembered the first time she met him—the bright, young prince of Nabradia. She was but fourteen, too old to be a child yet too young to be a woman. Their meeting was in Dalmasca. It was a soiree set in the royal gardens. She stood there, lurking behind the build of her father, eyeing the young man with curious eyes. That would be him, her husband to be. Rasler Helios Nabradia. 

“Come now, Ashelia, don’t be shy,” Raminas chuckled, gently pulling out Ashe from behind him. “Prince Rasler, allow me to introduce my daughter, Ashelia B’Nargin Dalmasca.”

The princess flushed, realizing that there was but a foot’s breadth between them. She could hear Rasler’s breathing—it seemed he was just as nervous as she. But there was a hopeful glimmer in his eye. Ashe felt a flutter of nerves. “Lord Rasler.”

Rasler bowed. “Princess Ashe,” he replied in a deep and gentle voice. 

In that moment, she knew that he was her destiny. 

The way he stared at her that day would be the same way he’d gaze upon her during their wedding. Two years later, they were ripe for marriage. She had only ever met him twice—the second of which was during the holy ceremony. How his visage mimicked the angels! How his armor flashed like diamonds! And when they shared their first kiss at the altar, it was nothing like she had ever felt before. 

Her husband was, beyond all means, perfect. He had a flawless face and body. On their wedding night, they trapped themselves in blissful intensity. He was greater than she had ever dreamed. There had only been love. They had never known discord, nor jealousy, nor hate. He was everything good and true. 

“Do you remember the day we first met?” asked Rasler.

Ashe was sitting by the balcony, her hands tangled in a mess of strings. She spoke as she unfurled the threads, guiding a needle in and out of a canvas. “Who wouldn’t?” the young lady smiled fondly. 

“And, you are happy with me?” he continued. 

Ashe stopped sewing. Her hands fell into her lap. “Why wouldn’t I be? You were everything that I dreamed of.” 

“And so are you,” Rasler said, returning the compliment. He ambled towards her, opening his arms. She fell into them, and felt an embrace only a husband’s touch could make. Tucking her locks behind her ears, he whispered. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too,” she cooed, feeling the ecstasy of love on her neck. “Rasler…”

The prince drew himself away. “What is it?” 

“Promise me,” Ashe started, twiddling her fingers. “Promise me you’ll stay forever.” 

“I’ll stay forever. I promise,” Rasler said firmly. Then, looking at his wife, he saw her glassy eyes. He had never seen her cry. “Tears? What’s wrong?”

“You know what our fathers have been talking about…” Ashe stated, wiping her eyes. “There’ve been rumors about a war. Rasler, what happens when they come?”

The prince brandished his blade. The sun hit it, and it shone so bright that a man could have gone blind just by looking at it. “Then I’ll tear them down. I won’t let them hurt us. Together, Dalmasca and Nabradia have enough forces to win against the Empire. We’ll fight them head on!”

“How valiant you are,” she praised him. “Everything is so simple for you.” 

“Because it is. Why do we complicate life, Ashe? There are only enemies and allies. Good and evil. We love the good; we hate the evil. That’s how life works.” 

Ashe wished she knew where all that certainty came from. She wished she could have harbored his strength, and tucked it right into her very soul. “And love, what do you believe it is?”

Rasler set his honeyed gaze on her. “It’s you and me, Ashe. It’s spending every moment suspended in this beautiful dream.”

That’s what it was, a beautiful dream.

 

* * * * * 

 

Ashe snapped awake to the sounds of heavy thuds. The putrid smell of something rotting burst into her nose. A dull pain thrummed at the back of her eyes. The first thing she saw was a grey sky split by bars. The nebulous silhouettes of panicked men and women flashed around her. She saw them reaching out, forcing themselves between the spaces in the cage. Trapped. Moving. They were being carted. 

The queen staggered to her knees. Buttocks and tails threatened to push against her face. On her feet now, she climbed, pushing over a sea of rattled heads. Pass the cage, she could see the great fortress waning in the distance. Fylleborg lit up as enemy fire slammed into its magick paling. 

“Oomph!” she grunted as the cart rolled over a rock. Her head slammed into the roof, and now onto another person’s skull. 

The grotesque dugong-like creature driving the cart came to a stop. The whole mess of bodies in the cage rolled forward, rocking the car. The weight of four men came crashing down on Ashe. She felt her lungs contract. Now they were scrambling over her as the beast-man threw open the cage door. The prisoners roiled around madly.

The dugong climbed into the cage. Using its flat, porous fins, it grappled a viera warrior. The woman struggled to break free from the enemy’s grasp. Aggravated, the beast-man roared. Curling its fin into a fist, the dugong bashed her head. Now unconscious, the viera was dragged out of the cage and across the icy beach. 

Now there came another hulking beast-man, a chimera of a man and a crab. Instead of hands, he bore enormous pincers, and his shell armor was seamlessly integrated with his peach skin. In one hand, he held a staff made out of driftwood. Shells and kelp hung from its top. “Bring the prisoner here!” he bellowed. 

The dugong tossed the viera’s body in front of the crustacean. The warrior grumbled as her consciousness returned. The woman moved her hands and toes, and was getting ready to stand. Taking advantage of the viera’s confusion, the sea-coq grabbed her once against and planted her against his chest. The crab scampered forward and pointed his staff at the prisoner. “Now, you belong to the sea!” 

Brackish water formed a flurry atop the viera. Screaming and thrashing, the warrior tussled as the water circled around her arms and chest. Anger had left Ashe, and fear had come in its wake. She could only watch in horror as the water was siphoned into the lady’s body. The viera began to convulse, as if taken by a poltergeist. The pores on her skin erupted, and blood came rushing through. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head. As a chrysalis bursts open to reveal a butterfly, so did the viera transform. Peeling out from under a gory curtain of red was a green-gill, slick in mucus and crimson discharge. The grotesque semblance of a viera was hidden beneath its bestial features. 

Mindlessly, the new green-gill frolicked off into the squall, joining a pack of other kelp men, before they disappeared under the squall. 

Now, the dugong bounded back to the cage. Ashe bolted far from the door, pushing through a wall of bodies. She backed up into the far side and gripped the bars with all her might. The tide of captives was pushing her forth. There were shrill screams as another person was picked out. 

This time it was a male hume, who gave the dugong fight. Elbowing the beast-man on the snout, the man reeled and struck his enemy with another blow. The sea-cow rode his punch and returned with a merciless thrust. A thousand pounds of blubber came crashing down on the hume. There was a sound like a shattering pot. The prisoner was in shambles, joints dislocated and all. The crustacean had just the remedy. Using magick, he reformed the man into a sharkhead. His broken bones twisted up in different directions, and his face gave way to a snout. 

The cage door flew open once again, and Ashe had never felt more terrified in her life. A wall of arms shoved her forward. From out of the strangled air she plummeted, hitting a bare spot in the cage. It was cold, terribly cold, as death was terribly cold. There was no resistance now from the other prisoners. A hundred eyes watched her in unexplainable fear. They watched as she was taken, picked out like a flower from a patch. The dugong grabbed her, and she screamed. 

If only she had stayed in the fortress. If only she had obeyed the terms of her imprisonment. If only she had been wiser to trust Larsa’s judgment. How foolish she was to believe that she could have taken Loemund on her own! She was brash, and she would pay the price. 

Now she was brought up for the crustacean to inspect. The crab smiled wickedly, poking his staff right into her belly. “Now, you belong to the sea!” he declared, as the flurry formed overhead. 

The last Dalmascan queen, heir of Raithwall’s legacy—to be consumed by bestial powers! Ashe could not bare the thought! She prayed to the gods—to those she knew and did not know—for anything, or anyone! —to deliver her from the demons. 

“Enough!” A voice ripped the magic right out of the air. 

Ashe looked to her left. There came an ironclad warrior on an ironclad steed. She recognized his helmet, the steel horns of a great ram. She remembered the man in the metal. She remembered the night at the Peace Tree. “Basch,” she said faintly. 

Ranks of beast-men surrounded them in a wide berth. Sharkheads, green-gills, eel-men, dugongs and the crustacean. A hundred soldiers threatened to pounce on him all at once. Yet, the judge magister remained unshaken. He dismounted the chocobo, landing on the beach squarely. His metal steps inspired fear in his enemies. 

“Who are you, land-dweller, to have come alone?” asked the crustacean. 

“I am Judge Magister Gabranth, and I serve Emperor Larsa Solidor,” the man said, edging closer to Ashe. Ten feet separated them. The great crab scuttled forward on his many legs. Gabranth sheathed his great-sword. “I have come, by his Excellency’s order, to retrieve the prisoners of war.” 

“We are in possession of the field, judge, and thus we do our will onto the captives.”

“I challenge thee to a duel,” Gabranth proclaimed, pointing his sword at the crab. “Should I win, I’ll claim one of our men. Should I lose, you may do with me as you please. Surely, I shall make a pleasing gift for the King of the Sea.” 

“Should you win, whom do you propose you save?” asked the crustacean. 

“Her.” 

“Very well,” the great crab agreed, motioning to the dugong. 

Ashe felt the sea cow’s grip on her lighten, and she managed to push herself free. She stumbled forward, got into a clumsy sprint, and made haste for the chocobo. Everything was happening too fast for her to understand. 

Magickal energy danced around the crustacean. Brackish water churned around him, twisting and snaking across his torso and limbs. There was a crackling sound—like one stepping on broken glass. Fissure forked out of the crab’s shell. Breaking out of its back were extra arms—one, now two, now three. Its feet doubled in number. Its spine expanded, and its neck craned all the way up. Its torso stretched, revealing a glowing membrane under frills of tissues and ligaments. Now, the crab was no longer a crab, but a large, twisted centipede. Out of its mandibles spewed poisonous spittle. 

Judge Gabranth opened the fight. Hurling himself at the creature, he motioned an upward swing. Tournesol hit the centipede right on the hide. His blade bounded off its brazen shell. The judge game back with a second shock, focusing his attack on the chest, but the enemy many feet curled inward like a ribcage to protect the glowing membrane. 

Now it was the centipede’s turn to attack. Slithering forward with unprecedented speed, it snapped its large pincers at Gabranth. A left hook tried to knock out the judge, but he eluded the punch. The second hook came in, landing square on his hip. The Archadian staggered sideways as he stomached a third blow. Losing his balance, he hit the ground. The great arthropod swarmed over Gabranth, its many feet clambering over his chest plate. Like stakes, they threatened to bare holes in his armor. The acidic spittle spilled over his greaves. The iron melted away under the mucus. 

The centipede’s tusks hooked Gabranth, lifted him skywards, and slammed him down with marvelous might. Metal bent and tussled in the ramshackle affair. The insect seemed to attack him at a thousand different angles—pincers, tusks, and all. Burrowing, baring, rattling, the stakes pierced his being. The judge trundled sideward, hoping to break free from the chaos, but more arms and legs met him. A fusillade of fangs bore down upon his cuirass. 

Gabranth timed his move, focusing on the glowing membrane. The thing was left exposed for the flicker of a second before the ribcage of arms shielded it. Thus was the pattern each time it attacked. The pincers rained down on him once more in a barrage of blows. He endured each hit, waiting for the ribs to fly open. 

Plak! 

With perfect timing, the judge thrust his sword point right into the sternum. The great arthropod reeled back in shock. Its plethora of arms trembled like branches in the wind. Gabranth slashed it a second time, and Tournesol flashed like the sun. Flames came spurting out of its blade, leaving a flaming path upon whatever he struck. The judge ran his sword up the centipede’s neck, and its chin. The creature’s face crackled. Split in half. The mandible gave way, as did the poison sacks hanging below its eyes. Acid gushed down, spilling over Gabranth’s chestplate. It ate away patches of the iron, but left his flesh in tact. 

The shell of the centipede fell apart in two portions. The judge emerged from between the halves, covered in gossamers of glowing, green mucus. It slithered down his entire being, accumulating in stew-like puddles among the strands. Breathing heavily, Gabranth plodded back to the chocobo. He scooped the remaining slime from his armor and flung it into the water. 

“Get on,” Gabranth commanded, mounting the steed. 

Ashe, taking her last look at the dead crustacean, hopped on behind him. Silently, she slid her arms around his waist. Heated sparks mashed her innards and she felt her face turn hot. To think, the man who had attempted to take advantage of her—the man whom she had struck like a bad dog—sacrificed his life just to save her. Was it atonement? A plea for forgiveness? She replied with nothing. She could not manage to express her thanks, for guilt had taken over her. 

Across the beach they sped. Out on the horizon, Loemund’s ships were burning. Even his great longboat was dazzled by ringlets of flames. The line of fire stretched across the skyline, its bright red winning out against a tangerine sky. Columns of smoke pierced through low-lying clouds. Victory, it had seemed. Victory at last. 

They rode through the breach, across the outer courtyards where many bodies lay rotting. She saw Dalmascans—cavalry who had just been riding alongside her—strewn lifeless across the bloody ground. She could have been one of them, or even worse, one of Loemund’s slaves. If Gabranth hadn’t come, she would have met her end. 

The queen saw sharkheads lugging two or three corpses at once, and her stomach turned to ice. She knew, at the very bottom of her heart, that they were to become the new soldiers of the Sea-King’s army. Now she understood where Loemund had gotten his men. Now, the thought of losing soldiers to the battle terrified her more than ever. 

“Gabranth,” she began, collecting her voice from deep in her chest. “Thank you.” 

The judge simply doffed his helmet, acknowledging Ashe.

 

* * * * * 

 

“Are you hurt?” Those were the first words she heard from Larsa when she entered the tent. Alone they were now. The queen had sent her generals away, and the judge magisters were waiting patiently outside. 

“I’m fine,” Ashe replied, looking at the tip of her toes. 

The emperor took her hand. “That was irresponsible, what you did,” he told her frankly. Now he was gently pressing her fingers, checking for inflammations. He twisted her hand to a supine position and pinched her wrist.

“Ouch,” she muttered, stifling a groan. A pain jolted up her left arm.

“You’ve sprained your wrist. You need a potion.” 

Ashe’s right hand reached over to unbuckle her gauntlet. Her fingers were cold and shaking, barely able to grip the clasp. Larsa’s hand went over hers and he aided her. The man slipped the unsightly thing out of her arm. She looked up. “How did you find me?”

“Once that soldier you knocked out regained consciousness, we did but ask. Spare him some dignity—he was bare from the crown to the toes,” Larsa said. His words were hard, snide. “Whatever force spurred you into action, I cannot say.” 

“It was my choice. To defeat Loemund is my destiny,” Ashe insisted. 

“There you go again, speaking about destiny. You feel as if the stars have carved you a path. If that road leads you to doom, then don’t wander it. Prudence, Ashe. We are wiser than this.” 

“You’re right,” she sighed deeply. “Larsa, I...I’m sorry.” 

“You worried me,” he confessed. “Promise me you won’t do it again.” 

To think that she could have made an emperor like him worry—how ashamed she must have felt. “I promise.” 

“Dalmasca needs you. Archadia needs you. Our nations will fail should we ever fall. Many make us believe we are immortal—they carve us on stone, make monuments for our victories—but our lives are but vapors that slip away at an instant. We are a symbol of hope for our peoples. Let’s not waste our potential. We must rally the troops; move them to brave the long night. We won’t let it end here.” 

A second time, he helped her out of her gauntlets. The cuff’s smell was putrid, but under the leathers laid her soft, fair skin. He looked at it for a minute inquisitively. Stroked it with his thumb. “What is it?” Ashe asked, looking down at her wrist, and then up at him. 

Meeting her gaze, Larsa simply said. “Nothing of consequence.” He let her go now. Keeping his head low, he sauntered towards the doorway.

“Wait,” Ashe said suddenly. 

The emperor turned around. “Your grace?” 

“Good night, Emperor Larsa.” 

“Good night, Queen Ashe.” With that, he gave her a light bow, and vanished outside the tent. The curtains slid back in place. 

That evening, Ashe lay restless under the thick furs of her bed. She thought about many things—about the Sea-King’s army, about Basch’s heroic feat, but above all, she thought of the emperor. That moment with him had awakened something within her, something she thought she had locked away at the back of her mind. Her fingers stiffened at the thought of it. Afraid, unable to place the right emotions into it, she buried her face into a pillow and shut herself from the world. Ashe questioned herself, her feelings. Unexpectedly, there came a flutter of nerves, and for a second—just a second—she entertained a thought. 

Maybe—just maybe—there was hope for her to love again.


	16. In Our Interests

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No rest for the wicked. The monarchs return to their nations.  
> Ashe's inner conflict—an economist's advice—Al-Cid's intervention.  
> "I have laid down all the pieces, Queen Ashe. Nothing can hinder this union. I made sure of it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Hope you've been having a good time reading the story. It's a fresh breath of air to be studying Ashe's character after all the battling. She's quite the person to write about--someone who's burdened by her queenship and romantic life. Someone who's struggling to move on after a loved one's death. But can she really find love? And what is love, to begin with? Hopefully the next few chapters should answer it. Stick around!

**CHAPTER 16: IN OUR INTERESTS**

A week had passed without word of the King of the Sea. Many believed that he had burnt along with his vessel. The Naldoan fleet was in shambles, and the horizon had stayed clear of mist. It was, on the ninth day of Emberleaf, that Queen Ashelia and Emperor Larsa returned to their nations. Their attentions were now required elsewhere. Ashe had found flight to Dalmasca at the behest of her council’s advice. Larsa had to begin preparations for his wedding to the Rozarrian princess, which he, too, had delayed by a substantial amount. Judge Gabranth and the queen’s generals remained at Fort Fylleborg, and with the armies, continued their watch. Surgeons were brought in to treat wounds that could not be healed by potions. Corpses were burnt to avoid any occurrence of turning. Landisian scouts were mobilized into the wood to clear an alternative path to the provincial capital. 

Now Ashe was uneasy, for there was a stirring in her heart. It was an enigma that puzzled her all the way back to Rabanastre. She tried to busy herself with other things, and her council’s biannual meeting seemed just the remedy. However, her uncertain feelings were replaced with worse ones. Dalmasca’s head economist, a nu mou scholar by the name of Gilbyrt, had startling news. Ashe had never been one for economics. She had left her good judgment upon wise Gilbyrt, whose word was strong in her council. 

“Your majesty,” the nu mou began. “It has come to our attention that our endeavors in Landis are burdening Dalmasca’s economy. This liability’s been burning away the reserves we’ve spared for the Dry.” 

“The Dry will not come in another seven months. We’ve more than enough time to recuperate the losses. If you want, we can ask for another advance from the Rozarrian drill corporations.”

“My lady…that would only add to the increasingly taxing debt we’ve accumulated over the years. This is exactly my reason for meeting you today. I wish to speak to you about the kingdom’s future. Although bright, there is much cause for us to worry.” 

Ashe gathered a sigh from deep within her breast. “I don’t understand. Are we not in good standing? Has our petrol not propelled us to the zeniths of the economic sphere?”

“That is the point, your grace.” Gilbyrt drew away his floor-length ears, revealing a satchel on his hip. He drew out papers from inside the bag and laid it out on her desk, as if revealing a hand of cards. “Progress is rapid, and our trade’s looking optimistic. The problem is, the growth is speeding faster than we hoped—and Dalmasca does not have the means to catch up with its sensation. It may soon fly far beyond our reach.”

“How is this so?” 

“My queen, we do not have the machinery to propel the system. Dalmasca and her petrol attract foreign direct investments, especially from Rozarria. The money we earn circulates within our walls, but the only ones responsible for allocating our resources is the government—more specifically you and the royal council. We have no other financial institutions aside from the Rabanastre Bank, and we lack a competitive global banking status.”

She barely understood half of his words. “Which means?” 

“In simple terms: our paradigms are outdated,” Gilbyrt stated, looking at her from the top of his spectacles. “This stratagem might have worked for us this past decade, but it will be obsolete give the moving of this world. I foresee that within the next seven years, if no action is taken, Dalmasca’s economy will go into free-fall.”

Ashe gulped. She looked at the papers. The letters and graphs seemed to pulse and spin. They threatened to make her nauseous. “And how are we to stop it?” 

“We must pull out of this war with the Sea-King.” 

“I will do no such thing.” 

“Then we must find an alternative,” Gilbyrt replied gravely. “I suggest, my queen, that we adapt the Archadian model of economy, the paradigm of the occupation.”

“The Archadian model?” Ashe hung her head. 

“Yes, their economic archetype still serves as one of the most stable financial structures. Under the occupation, Dalmasca’s economy was robust. This was all made possible due to its integration into the Empire’s trade system. Don’t get me wrong, your grace. I harbor little love for Archadia, however, I’m being realistic.” 

“Then let us adapt it,” Ashe said decidedly. 

“It’s not that simple. To adapt the complexities of the Archadian model would mean reforming the entire system. We would have to decentralize the Rabanastre Bank, establish a freer market structure within and outside of Dalmasca. To undergo such a feat would take ten, or even twenty years—given we do not want to shock the market. We are left with few options.” 

“And these options?” 

“Even I do not know,” the scholar admitted, shaking his head. “The council will look into this further. Is there anything else you would want to know about, Queen Ashelia?”

“No, it’s alright. I understand. Thank you for your time, Gilbyrt.” 

The faster he went away, the better it was for her. This was what Ashe wanted, wasn’t it? To distract herself? Her advisor’s words jarred her more than she had hoped. The queen, whose hopefulness for Dalmasca had not been tainted, began to doubt her success as a monarch. She had driven her nation this far—away from the bowels of conquest and corruption—yet now she seemed closer to it than ever. 

The thought of a looming financial disaster only cemented her fears: that she needed to ally her nation—therefore, engage in closer ties with another nation—therefore, marry, should she need to, for the sake of her nation. She was getting no younger, and day-by-day felt less attractive. It would be soon that she would no longer find love, and weep for her stale womb. 

An opportunity came a week later.

As if by chance—or providence—Ashe found herself in the company of Lord Al-Cid Margrace. The Rozarrian arrived bringing the advance Ashe had requested from the drill corporations. It was a bond of thirty million gil, more than twice the amount she had wanted. The queen did not know where the man’s generosity had come from—for aside from the money he had also gifted her with a luxurious coach made entirely out of gold. 

“Al-Cid, this is too much,” she smiled good-naturedly. 

They were in the queen’s study. 

“Hah!” Al-Cid guffawed, pulling out a fat cigar from inside a metal tin. A small flame spurt from the tip of his fingers, and he pressed it against the butt. Silken wisps uncoiled into the air. “Nothing is ever too much for you.”

He puffed out a smoke ring, and it winded right past her. Ashe swatted the smoke away and coughed dryly. “I hope you’ll enjoy the accommodations. I’m sorry, the palace hasn’t been renovated in such a long time.” 

“I’ve seen worse,” Al-Cid jested, now pressing the butt of the cigar against a wall. Soot fell to the earth. “Ashelia, you must visit Rozarria once again. The place has changed much. The sunset has become even more dazzling.”

“It was beautiful,” she remembered. 

“As are you.” His teeth lingered over the cigar, as if the smoke in his mouth could have kept all his secrets. 

Ashe felt where this was going. Her lips thinned. “Al-Cid, I’ve no time for games. Tell me why you’re here.” 

The Rozarrian broke out into a cynical laugh. “Straight to the point, I see! You’ve never been one to fall for my facades. Very well, I shall be direct.” He straightened himself up, and fingered through his dark, wild locks. He saw her stiffen. Take an involuntary step back. “Ashelia Dalmasca, my desert bloom, I wish to make you an offer of marriage—for the second time.” 

It had come all too suddenly. She could not find the words. 

“Upon the cliffs of Ambervale, nine years ago, I asked your hand in marriage. You stared into the sunset, and with the light had your smile disappeared. You told me you would not marry me unless I fulfilled your…requirements…” 

“I cannot marry a man who always leaves an empty home.”

“My travels are done.”

Crinkles formed on Ashe’s forehead. “And what of your women? The ones you keep at every port?” 

“For you, I surrender my male independence. This I swear to the gods.” The look on his face told Ashe he was not lying. Margrace was made even more serious as he discarded his cigar. The smoke had hidden enough. 

“Al-Cid, you know that I have to consider Dalmasca…” Her voice trailed off as the Rozarrian bared his teeth. 

His clenched jaw gave way to a smirk. “Which only makes our timing more perfect, dearest queen. Rozarria has everything that you need! Have we not been Dalmasca’s most faithful ally? Have we not helped build up this nation since the occupation’s end?”

“That you have,” she realized. “Though Rozarria is not the only one.” 

“You mean to tell me you seek other options. Who would you wed? The Duke of Grazston? The Minister of Fluorgis? Emperor Larsa Ferrinas Solidor? Hah!” Al-Cid almost did a spit-take at the thought of it. “He who captured your nation and divided your people? He who almost leveled Rabanastre to the ground?” 

“To equate him to his brother’s doings is injustice. Emperor Larsa is not Vayne, nor is he his father.” 

“It will only be a matter of time,” Al-Cid spat. “Which is why Serani aught hamper any of his misdoings. ‘Tis a check and balance only a political marriage can afford.”

“And for who’s interest is this check and balance?” 

“For all of our sakes,” Al-Cid said, taking her hand. He pressed his lips upon it. “A most fitting arrangement. Everyone wins! Larsa will get the peace he desires, and the heirs he needs to continue the Solidor legacy. Dalmasca, Rozarria and Archadia would thrive under a solid alliance. And I will have you. I have laid down all the pieces, Queen Ashe. Nothing can hinder this union. I made sure of it.” 

How cunning of that man, she thought. He had spent the last years developing a foolproof stratagem. Now she was backed into a corner and had little fight left. She could think of no other options—to save Dalmasca, and herself. 

Ashe looked at him, and her mouth opened but a bit. “Al-Cid, I need more time.”

“You have wasted too much time. I’ll give you until winter’s end. On the last day of skyfrost, you’re to give me your approval,” the Rozarrian stated as if it were law. He swooped in and kissed her hand again before turning around. He unloaded another cigar from its tin and lit it up. Sashaying out of the room, a trail of silken gossamers were left swimming in his wake.


	17. A Mummer's Farce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If only Emperor Larsa knew what had transpired in Archades during his absence.  
> Perhaps he knew. He had just become good at acting.

**CHAPTER 17: A MUMMER’S FARCE**

Guilt. Guilt is very heavy.

The feeling came to her the moment Larsa Solidor returned to the Imperial Palace. The moment his airship’s door hatched open, numbness coursed through her chest. It was if someone had put a millstone around her neck, and threatened to weigh her down into the pits of abyss. 

The emperor came up to Serani with a good-natured smile. She showed him her teeth, a pale reciprocation of the gesture. Her cheeks were hard and aching, and she couldn’t hold on to it for much longer. The tips of her fingers were icy. Sweat formed in her pits. 

“Good afternoon, princess,” Larsa greeted. 

“Emperor Larsa,” she bowed, keeping her head low. 

“I have to apologize for the delay,” he said, extending his arm. It was a cue for Serani to take it, and she did. Now she could feel the pleats on his sleeve, and his arm underneath it. A look of concern appeared on the emperor’s face. “Are you alright? Why are you shivering?” 

“It’s a bit cold,” Serani replied, restraining the tremolo in her voice. 

“That it is,” Larsa noted, looking around. They were in a hallway now, one that bore foggy, columnar windows and paintings of House Solidor. The portrait of Emperor Gramis was perched precariously in place—it seemed the servants hadn’t fixed it since the assassin’s arrival. He would have to attend to it, and many other things. “It’s almost the end of Emberleaf. In a few weeks time, the first signs of winter should arrive. I’ll see to it that we get you a new set of vestments. They don’t have snow in Rozarria?”

“Only in the high Nazan mountains, west of Ambervale. It borders Jylland,” Serani explained, as another shiver ran up her spine. There was a quickening in her stomach as Larsa knitted his brows at her. What could he have been thinking? 

“I see…” he drawled. He guided her, bending round the corner. They were now in a large atrium, where the ceiling had opened up into a glass dome. Vines slithered across the walls, and the sound of a gushing fountain echoed through the room. “I pray the senators haven’t been giving you trouble.” 

“N-No, my lord.” She cursed herself for almost cracking. 

If only Emperor Larsa knew what had transpired in his absence. For two months, he had taken residence in a Landisian fortress. He had missed the webs of whispers the senators spun around his throne. He had missed heated political debate about ardent and gentries. He had missed the late night visits from Lord Rami Al-Kashir.

In Larsa’s dearth, Serani could be with Rami any time she had wanted. Of course, they could not be seen together, not in broad daylight at least. The Rozarrian came under guise of an ambassador. Only Lebleau knew of the lord’s true intentions. The senator had successfully bribed Serani’s guard to keep Rozarrian affairs a secret. Money talks, as does it take action. The soldier turned a blind eye to Rami’s nightly visits. Made deaf his ear to the sounds of sighs and moans under the midnight moon. 

Against Lebleau’s advice, she had stripped herself of all inhibition. In those intimate moments with Rami, she had felt freer than ever. She was convinced that her future lord husband would never return. She was sucked into the bliss of the moment. Caution was thrown to the wind. She loved Rami with all her heart, and she showed it. It was a hex, the ignorance that their liaison would never end. When the harsh reality dawned on her, it was too late—too late to take back the sins she had committed with him. Too late to replace what had already been lost.

The week continued on an eerily silent note. Larsa had to make a public appearance to brief Archadia on their advances in Landis. He neither confirmed nor rejected the possibility of future attacks on the Empire, but told the people that the military would keep their vigil. The Landisian refugees were transported safely to Archades. They took up residence in the city’s cathedral, located in Rienna, where kiltia saw to their wellbeing. Larsa also busied himself with the passing of a bill, which he tried to discuss with her over their dinners. Serani could never understand the castes of Archadian society, but it seemed to her that her lord wanted to destroy it. Give people chances for social mobility. It was noble. 

Serani gave herself time to be with the emperor, for she thought it best to practice her docility. It was a stage play, all of it. Even Larsa himself had become quite the actor. He had found ways to skirt around her. All his alibis were delivered most convincingly, the most common of which included “too busy”, “too tired”, and “too angry”. It was clear that he had wanted to avoid her, at all possible moments. It was only when the senate seated him down and talked to him about the trade agreements that he focused his attentions on their wedding. 

The Rozarrian princess now sought the need for the nuptial, not for political reasons, but for something else entirely. Four weeks after her liaison with Lord Al-Kashir, she had stopped bleeding. This terrified her down to the bones. Action had to be taken before Larsa noticed that something was amiss. 

Serani and Larsa consulted with the wedding planner. The ceremony would take place in two weeks time, in the Grand Cathedral. The invitations would be sent out a week before that. “Also, that would be your first public appearance,” Larsa told her. “You will come out to society as the future Empress of Archadia.” 

The title was overwhelming, as were the preparations. Serani had to be fit for her wedding dress. A tailor was sent over from Rozarria to stitch her up a gown that represented her nation. Larsa accompanied her to the fitting. She lifted up her arms and watched as the seamstress wrapped measuring tape around her waist. The princess flushed as the tape ran snug when it hit her belly. Serani snatched the metered rope away, praying that the emperor saw nothing. She was lucky that he was tuned out, staring at a wall. His mind seemed concentrated on other things, and that made her glad. 

“You are done?” Larsa asked. 

“Yes,” Serani said, hopping off the stool she was on. She sat down, and a servant slipped on her shoes. The emperor gave him his arm to hold. She took it and got up. “Where do we go to next?” 

“There’s a taste testing for the wines during lunch,” Larsa said as they walked out to the gardens. The familiar smell of gardenia surrounded them. “In an hour.”  
It made her remember Rami, and their first meeting in Archades. She wanted to block out the scent, for it also reminded her of her falsehood. She was alone with Larsa, and her head was throbbing. The guilt was eating her sanity away. She opened her mouth, as if about to say something. The emperor caught eye of it. 

“What is it?” he asked. He was always perceptive. 

“I am…nervous,” she confessed, looking down at her stomach. It was churning.

“As am I.” He could have never admitted it out loud, but he did. “Serani, I know this might not have been the life that you wanted, but there are things we must do for the better good. This alliance will surely open new opportunities for both our Empires. For peace.” 

And she hated how he talked so honestly, passionately about his just causes. She hated how she could never do the same. 

“I must apologize for leaving you alone,” the emperor continued sadly. He held her wrist. “You must have felt very lonely.” 

Serani could do nothing but stare at him. Her lips were quivering, and her stomach was tossing wilder than waves in a storm. “Larsa…” she said, feeling a choking feeling wrapping around her throat. 

The tears in her eyes only spurred him more. “Perhaps you want to visit your family? We could visit Rozarria. I shall let you decide where we’re to spend our… first night.” The words came out awkwardly, but Larsa pressed on. He looked like he had just tasted bad milk. “We could fly straight to Ambervale after the wedding, or we could occupy my quarters. Just say the word.” 

Her head was spinning now. It all felt so wrong. She should not be doing this to Larsa. She should not have been doing it with Rami. “I would be fine here,” she said through a heavy breath. To travel to Rozarria would take too long. It would expose her. Her breakfast was crawling its way back up her throat. She had to fight it. “I don’t—want to burden you wi—”

“Serani, are you alright?” he said as the princess lurched forward. 

She nodded. Then shook her head. “Larsa, I have to tell you—bleh—” She stifled a groan. She clasped her mouth as if that could have stopped it. Too late. In no time she was vomiting. 

Larsa gasped and strafed back just before puke splatted on his loafers. “Serani!” 

She steered her mouth away. The rest of the gag ended up on the gardenias and on the freshly cut hedges. Larsa came to aid her and rubbed her back. He patted it. Loudly, she belched as a last batch of brownish spittle came flying out of her lips. And in no time she was crying, and wiping her mouth with her arm. 

“Guards! Help!” the emperor cried as he stooped over and slid his arm around her waist to straighten her up. His hands slid down her hips, running over a flash of olive skin. “Get me a potion!”

“Larsa, no—” she pleaded, lifting his hand from her waist. It came bounding back. She struggled, hardly able to recover from the upchucking. She was still so dizzy, and felt another wave of vomit readying itself for launch. She coughed hard and loud, unable to breathe. 

Now his hands were over her belly, ready to administer a Heimlich maneuver. Pressing a closed fist against her abdomen, he realized something was amiss. There was an unexpected hardness, a curvature peaking at her navel. The emperor’s eyes widened, an in a voice colder than death, he asked, “What have you done?” 

* * * * *

They sat across each other, but the distance between them seemed leagues apart. Serani refused to look at Larsa. She fixed her gaze upon the carpet. His eyes were on her like a hot iron. He was there, silent, but his look said it all. A bomb about to burst. All it needed was the slightest misstep. 

“So who is going to talk first?” he asked impatiently. He drummed his fingers on the rest of his chair so loudly that Serani flinched at the sound of each tap. “Shall we stare at each other until we die?” 

No response. 

“You are mute?” he continued, leaning in towards her. 

Instinctively, her cheeks tensed and she angled her face up. “Do it now. Hit me. I deserve it,” she ordered him. “Yes, I am a fool for loving someone.” 

“Love?” Larsa echoed gravely. “Do you honestly believe that people in our position have the luxury of love?”

“Why not ask your sky pirate woman?” she said, tossing a question back at him. “You surely must have caused a commotion with her around the palace. To think you’d be with commoners.” 

That evoked something terrible within him, something that had harped upon the deepest passions of his life. “I loved Penelo, but I have never given her my purity!” he gritted, clenching a fist. “Who told you about her?” 

“It doesn’t matter,” she replied curtly. 

“Who told you?!” Larsa raged, flying off his seat. 

Serani felt her lungs cave in. The man was now stomping towards her, and she expected him to strike her with all the anger he had accumulated in his twenty-two years of life. But the emperor was not Rozarrian, and his hand stayed where it should be. She could have bared another strike to the cheek—as she had endured hundreds before—but she could not take his steely stare. It was as if he had killed her five times over in his head. “Serani…” 

She snapped. “It was Lebleau’s fault!” she confessed, wincing. 

“Damn it,” Larsa said, narrowing his brows. “That old pervert!” 

“No, you don’t understand!” Serani shrilled.

“Yes, I don’t!” matching her voice.

“It was not Lebleau! He invited Rami over from Ambervale. The senator told me that I could spend as much time as I wanted with him!” 

“Serani, you blatantly disobeyed me. Who is this Rami?” 

“Lord Rami is—” She hesitated for a second. She wished she could have told spoke about the man who was a million times more brave and handsome than Larsa. She wished she could have detailed his every perfect feature, every great value of his heart. “I love him.” 

“And this Lebleau, he told you about Penelo too, did he not?” 

She nodded slowly.

Larsa gave off a deep sigh, and placed a hand to his head. “But why? Why would he transport this man from Rozarria? Generosity does not come without self-interest.” 

“He told me that we could keep our nightly visits. All I had to do was talk to Uncle Razur and convince him to—”

“—Razur Margrace, the Minister of Trade?” 

“Yes, I just needed to persuade him to kill House Lebleau’s competition.” 

“That devious bastard,” the emperor cursed. “I’ll issue a warrant of arrest for that man. To think that he could trick you for his own personal advances! And you allowed yourself to fall for his trap.”

“It was Rami. How could I say no to one who loved me fiercely?” The princess reached out to touch her belly. Shards of memories with the Rozarrian lord washed before her eyes. “You would never understand what it means for me to lose him. We loved each other. Nothing was forced. We were to be wed, given the chance. You took me away from him.” 

“I stole you? I never meant to treat you as a possession.” After a few moments of reflection, however, it seemed that some part of it was true. Larsa had chosen Serani out of convenience. She was neither the old hag of Moorabella nor the Queen of Dalmasca, who would have abdicated her role as liberator. He, too, had only seen her when he had felt like it. To love someone was not a chore, and loving Serani was. “If you were previously committed to another, why did you choose to come to Archades?” 

“I did not have a choice. _Qisha_ Al-Cid decided that I go. You understand my fear for him, and in all matters of hierarchy he would have the stronger say than Lord Rami.”

“But what of your father, Emperor Al-Zedir? Had he known your circumstance, he surely would’ve disagreed.”

Serani frowned. “My father has thirty-four children from five different women. Being the eighteenth daughter, and my brother the ninth son—we have less value than those before us. Emperor Al-Zedir cannot peer into all of our private lives. His concern for Rami is a but a speck.”

“It baffles me, how Al-Cid could allow himself to do such a thing to you. What are his reasons?” 

“I don’t know.” And this time she was sincere, Larsa realized. Serani was caught up in a whole web of lies and manipulation, and so was he. The emperor had been duped, pulled around like a marionette. “Could Lebleau and brother been in contact?”

“We cannot say. Your brother has ears and mouths all over Ivalice. If this entire story stands true, then this arrangement is a deception. I will not stand for it.” Now Larsa faced the window and fell out of himself for a moment. There was a reflective silence. “Send word to your brother. Tell him that I wish to speak with him.”

“No, please.” Her voice sounded like it was coming from the next room. “Brother will get angry.”

The emperor whisked around and his lips thinned. “I will not allow him to hurt you. Should he confess his dishonesty, he would face penalties. Our arrangement could be nulled. It would allow you return with your Rami.”

That seemed to lighten her spirit, but questions emerged in her mind. Twiddling her thumbs, she asked. “You allow my release so easily. Is it because this child will shame you?”

“No,” Larsa replied. “I deluded myself into thinking that we could have been something. I tried to love you, princess. I honestly did. But I could never come to love you. Your heart belongs to another, and to tear you away from him would be cruel. You would be living a lie, as would I. A mummer’s farce should be reserved for the stage.”


	18. Ronsenburg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basch's new crusade. Seeking aid from the local militia, he returns to a familiar place—the backwater town of Ronsenburg.

**CHAPTER 18: RONSENBURG**

Around Fort Fylleborg grew an eerie normality that caused Basch unease. He had not heard from Loemund in two weeks. His master and Queen Ashelia had returned to their respective countries. Gabranth, as judge magister and head of the Archadian forces in the battle, stayed his watch upon the battlements. The sea was glassy calm, and the sky was overcast. It was reaching the end of Emberleaf, and winter was fast approaching. Already, many trees had begun to shed their leaves, save the conifers that stood the test of snow. The temperature had dropped immensely, and the Dalmascans were restive at the cold. A total of eighty-four soldiers had fallen to hypothermia, and many were afflicted with the weather. This could soon prove to be the greatest handicap in battle. 

Basch had taken on a new armor, one crafted by Landisian hands. His magister’s coverings had been greatly damaged by Loemund’s crab magus. Now his new armor was a brilliant blue with spikes jutting out of his shoulder-guards. He still donned his magisterial cape. His soldiers, then, would not confuse him for a provincial commander, and would obey without question. 

Gabranth’s most previous command was to gain more sword arms from the local militia—those who had great knowledge on the sea and could brave the winter to come. Landisians were hardy people carved by a harsh environment. On the seventeeth of Emberleaf, the judge magister set out from Fylleborg to ask aid from neighboring towns. Hausen, along with Ser Grahm, left the fortress to clear a path through the coastlands with the elite soldier.

The place was immense. Lofty columnar cliffs rose behind one another. Many a seagull used to nest upon the rock faces, but it seemed they migrated north, towards the equatorial regions of Giza and the Phon Coast. Now only the crashing of the waves against the breakwater could be heard, and from atop the cliffs the whitecaps were but thin, white curves. The Sea-King could not reach such a height, even with all the powers of the Naldoa. Here, Landisians were deemed safe. In this region, there were many capable warriors. 

“Ser Grahm, you work for Senator Granch?” asked Hausen. 

“Yes. I, along with sixty others, have sworn our swords to House Granch,” Grahm replied proudly, lifting his chin. The man flaunted the plumes on his helm like a peacock. “We are the fine swordsmen of Archadia, perhaps even at par with military-trained imperials.”

Hausen continued his inquiry. “Who trains your men?” 

“House Granch has had the privilege of its own tutors. We train in a very specific way, following the traditions of the family.”

Basch batted his eyes at Ser Grahm. He remembered Zargabaath’s warning about Granch’s men. Gabranth had also done his own inquiries about the personal army. They were misfits—the bastards and the half-castes that found place in the senator’s hands. “How fared the battles? I suppose they were no challenge at all for your group.”

“The beast-men were but ants ready to be crushed by our boots! We were ordered to protect his Excellency. Thus far, Emperor Larsa has proven to be unscathed by the battle.”

“Impressive,” remarked Gabranth, unflinching. “How fitting that House Granch would suddenly raise its shields for those whom it once swore to cut down. Granches and the Solidors have always been in conflict. The senator is antagonistic to my master’s causes.”

“The houses have an enemy greater than themselves. You and I must recognize it. Archadia is our greatest master, and Loemund is our greatest enemy.”

“Lord magister, pray tell: to where do we ride?” Hausen asked, breaking the tension. 

Basch waved off Grahm. He faced the lower judge. “The town of Ronsenburg is not far from here. Through the thick brush we will find a dirt road. We follow it for a quarter of a mile. Once we see the longhouse, we will know we have arrived.” 

Behind the crowns of trees were columns of twining smoke—signs of a village. The ground was bathed in hues of orange and red. A deep nostalgia plagued Basch fon Ronsenburg. He had remembered the falls of his childhood: the crisp crunching of leaves under his feet, and the moist scent of the hardwood forest. These were the woods he played in as a child, where he also shared his first kiss with a blonde maiden from the neighboring town of Hedenburg. 

The memory of the Peace Tree played before his eyes. That moment was a brutal foil to his first dalliance. As opposed to the Hedenburg maiden’s sweet feelings for him, Ashe was cold and distant. But Basch had felt it—every second of their kiss. He fell headfirst into the heated moment, but was sooner met with an icy shame. The Dalmascan queen did not seem to reciprocate feelings for him. Along with her affection, his hopes of ever being loved by Ashe dwindled. Yet, he still believed that he could win her over, even if he had to start from the very bottom of the pit. If there were some way to prove himself a hero— _her hero_ —by defeating Loemund—then perhaps she would reconsider his proposal.

As soon as they chanced upon Ronsenburg, a thought entered Basch’s mind: who was he to have claim to Ashelia Dalmasca’s heart? He, a commoner from a small village that held no name on a map? He, a traitor living under the shadow of a dead man’s name? He, judge magister sworn to Emperor Larsa Solidor, whom he was to serve him until his last breath? Where was his place in the queen’s heart? 

Now Ronsenburg was drawing close. The town lay on a gentle steppe. Small stone houses ran down to where the high rimrocks broke off into the sea. The longhouse stood upon the highest point of the village. The mayor’s gate was marked with timber stakes, and hanging above the front door was a flag of the Archadian Empire. 

They rode up to the longhouse. Basch was first to dismount his steed. He marched to the door and rapped it. “By order of the Archadian army, let me speak to the mayor of this town! It is I, Judge Magister Gabranth!” he declared through a few more heavy knocks. 

The door was opened by a woman. Her straw hair was made into a high, braided bun. The look on her face made her seem a warrior. She wore scarred leathers that seemed to have been tempered by the heat of battle. A thick bear pelt that covered her all the way down to the knees. In one hand she carried a great-axe, ready to smite any foe. “You have her. Ayla fon Ronsenburg.” 

Basch’s eyes widened. “Cousin Ayla? You are this town’s mayor?”

“This surprises you?” she asked, lips thinning. Her hands fell down to her hips. “Noah, is that truly you? If my eyes deceive me!” 

“They have not. I have returned.” He hated to take on his late brother’s name, but it was a cross he needed to bare for the rest of his life.

“There is something…different about you. Perhaps it’s the wrinkles, or your damn ugly teeth,” she jested, squinting her eyes. A smile broke out on her lips, and dimples formed on her cheeks. She beckoned him in. “Enter, you old harbor hog, you! Who’re your friends over there?” 

Basch grinned. “Judge Hausen and behind him, Ser Grahm.”

The three soldiers entered the longhouse. It was a high-ceiling structure with no room divisions. One half of the house was the mayor’s office—a desk and a bookshelf. The other half was Ayla’s living quarters: a modest-sized bed covered in furs, a small living room set up, and a large hearth that took up a quarter of the entire house. In the fireplace, a large fire burnt. There was a long dining table covered in foodstuff—wild fowl, rabbit stew, venison and hard bread. The scent made Basch’s stomach turn in a good way. He was salivating uncontrollably at the sight of it all. The smell took him back to his younger days. “You cooked this, Ayla?” 

The woman nodded. “Yes. We just got back from a hunt.” That would have explained the axe. “The venison, we cured it just a few days ago. It should be sweeter than you remember. Now, who’s up for a meal? What do you say, boys?”

Hausen straightened his back. “Madame, we’ve business to attend—”

“Enough with your formalities. You city-dwellers look famished,” Ayla grinned, putting her hands akimbo. “Come, come! Put your weapons on the rack and let me introduce you to some fantastic Landisian cuisine.” 

The mayor got them eating in no time. While Hausen and Grahm helped themselves to a nibble or two of the hard bread, Basch abandoned all graces. He devoured the food faster than he could have killed a green-gill, slurping the soup loudly and tearing rabbit meat of the bone with his bare hands. Flavors were erupting in his mouth. Gabranth’s comrades looked at him strangely. The Archadians could have mistaken him for a barbarian, were he not wearing his armor.

“Why have you come, Noah?” asked Ayla. 

Basch shook his hands to dry them. Wiping them on his lap, he answered. “Mayor fon Ronsenburg, we seek more sword-arms to help us against the King of the Sea.” 

Ayla furrowed her brows. “Magister, many families have already moved inland to escape the turmoil. I, and but a few villagers, remain in Ronsenburg. We’ve to continue the harvest before the snow comes. They’re farmers, not soldiers. They may know how to hold a sword, but the chances of them surviving in battle are slim.” 

“We need all the help we can get.” 

“As do we. If I were to commit the farmers to this war, we could be losing our best workers to a lost cause. They would die, and our yield along with it. I can’t gamble that, Noah. I apologize,” she said sadly. Basch realized things were getting personal with the invocation of his ‘true’ name. And he understood the necessity of gathering the crops. He had worked in the fields before with his brother and father. 

“Cousin Ayla, you know the stories of Loemund.” 

“Great nana would tell stories of him all the time. The King of the Sea—every thousand years he would rise from the waters of the Naldoa and seek one who is worthy of succeeding him. Blah—blah—blah—!” She sang mockingly, tossing her head around. 

Basch’s eyes widened. “What did you say?” 

“Are you deaf?” she repeated in a much louder voice. “I said, Great Nana used to—!”

“—No! Something about succeeding him.” Gabranth stated with a taut voice. 

“The King of the Sea, he searches for a worthy successor every thousand years. Well, that’s what the fables say. Come on, Noah, it’s been that way all along. Don’t you remember? Or has your memory been failing you as of late?” 

It was a part of the tale Basch had completely overlooked, and forgotten. The most crucial information to the Sea-King’s riddle was unearthed. Now, he understood what Loemund meant when he needed to find a worthy one. He was looking for someone to continue his crusade. “This changes everything,” he muttered. 

The truth slammed him like a great maul. No wonder the carnage would not cease. No wonder Loemund gave chance for parley with Emperor Larsa, and then quickly dismissed him at a gut-feel. His master was not worthy of the position. But who was? Queen Ashelia? Thus was the reason for seeking her out? Perhaps Ashe’s connection to the fortress and to Raithwall had a deeper meaning to it all. 

“Cousin Ayla, the winter will be no less than cruel, even for Landisians. The troops from Dalmasca know no such weather, and the metropole Archadians are lost upon the waves. Lend us your swords, Ronsenburg. There is nothing more beautiful than to fight alongside my countrymen.” 

Basch’s words moved Ayla fon Ronsenburg into tears. “And if you are to die alongside them, would that be beautiful?” 

“It would be the most beautiful death of them all.” 

The mayor sighed. “Very well. I will spare you our strongest men and women. Allow us to finish the last of the harvest for the week, and you’re to have their lives after. Take care of them, Noah. Don’t let the children return to parentless homes. Will you travel to Hedenburg in search of able-bodied fighters there too?” 

“Yes, and we’ll continue to Lausburg before making our way back to Fylleborg.” 

The camaraderie of Landisians baffled Hausen and Grahm. How gallant these provincials were, to have mobilized troops without thinking. Their common identity as Landisians bound them to action. As blood runs thick through the great fisher-folk’s veins, so it would run thick down enemy swords. In a week’s time, they would have gathered three hundred and sixty-four Landisian fighters to defend their homeland from the Sea-King’s forces.


	19. The Hall of Magisters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Al-Cid answers a subpoena and stands for inquiry in the Hall of Magisters.  
> Lady Justice is blind, perhaps too blind, to turn an eye to those who have the means to skew the system.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Hope you've been enjoying the couple of chapters of political intrigue I've set up.  
> For those who are wondering, yes, we'll be getting back to the action very soon.  
> Meanwhile, here's a chapter to ponder on--one that can determine the outcome of future events.  
> Hoping to hear from you guys soon. The story is only going to go uphill from now on!  
> [Airbendergal]

****

CHAPTER 19: THE HALL OF MAGISTERS 

Were it truly a warm welcome, Al-Cid would have been greeted by half-naked maidens and not guards! Six of them, ironclad from head to toe, met him with lances at the Archades aerodome. It would have been the welcoming of a superstar—since he turned at least a hundred heads—but the press was nowhere in sight. Nor were the Archadian opera singers meant to serenade his arrival. And what of the wine? None was served! Al-Cid was directly shipped off to the Hall of Magisters in a dingy hovercraft he thought smelled like livestock. 

The Hall of Magisters was the vestige of Archadian Law. It was the Supreme Court, where the magistrate and their subordinates would conduct all sorts of activities—from trials, to hearings, to inquiries. Below the judicial chambers on the seventh floor were sparring grounds for the judges. An underground nexus connected the Hall of Magisters to the Military Academy, where citizens who wished to undergo military education were trained. 

The guards brought the Rozarrian prince through the gates. The walls closed over him. Al-Cid took of his sunglasses and let it rest on the lapels of his coat. “I pity you who live in the dark!” he declared, looking around him. 

Al-Cid never understood just how dim and dingy Archadian interiors were. Perhaps it simply imitated the people’s dim and dingy personalities. Ah, Archadia’s sardonic, brooding people! Ah, how he sighed at their dry and odd sense of humor! Ah, these spineless people who would rather have their noses stuck in books than wander the wilds in reckless abandon! Where was the life? The colorful festivals and the musical cacophony that blazoned through the city? Archadia’s women were definitely beautiful, but how delicate and subservient were they to their men! They did not have the flavor of fiery Rozarrian women!

His bravado was suddenly siphoned away at the sight of Lady Justice, whose beauty was carved in black gold. Her statue towered a hundred feet over him, and a clockwork contraption shifted her scales up and down. 

Now another group of guards came to meet the Rozarrian prince. A sudden fear bubbled at the back of his mind, and Al-Cid had to restrain himself from shaking. They passed through numerous dim hallways. The sound of voices resonated through the corridors—of proper dialogue, of banter, of presentations on statistics. There was the white noise of crowds, and the powerful authority of the gavel that silenced outbursts. 

The guards stopped in front of an antechamber, which Al-Cid determined was the hallway leading to his demise. For a second, the iron men faced him, and the next second they turned about. Al-Cid furrowed his brows. “Where are we going?” he asked them. They replied by grappling his arms. They were whisking him away, down a smaller hall. “Let go of me!”

They chucked him through a door. Slammed it shut. 

“What is the meaning of this?” Al-Cid protested, banging the door loudly. 

“Hush now, Lord Margrace. Your boldness could very well see the last of you.” 

Al-Cid turned around. From out of the shadows came out an old man. A large hood shaded his eyes, and his braided beard gave way to an air of wisdom. But was it truly that? Wisdom? No, upon closer inspection, the Rozarrian knew it was cunning. “Ah, if it isn’t Senator Alastir Granch!” 

“You are well-informed. However, you’re not the only one with little birds,” Granch replied, folding his arms. “This very society is built upon the power of information.”

Al-Cid laughed haughtily. “What have your long ears heard?” 

“Enough to catch my attention. Worry not, Lord Margrace. Tis but an inquiry. They won’t pass judgment on you. Not yet, at least. What’s the most that his Excellency can do to you? He has abolished the death sentence. You will not die.” 

“What of lifetime imprisonment?”

“He cannot keep you captive here forever—that would win the hatred of your estranged father. My emperor will do anything to avert war, and your grace has no place in a dungeon. Al-Cid, I need to know your side. So that the judges may convince their master to lessen your sentence, should it come to that.”

Al-Cid tilted his head. “Why would make a man like me trust a man like you?” 

Granch pulled off his hood and beamed at the Rozarrian determinedly. A smile formed on the senator’s pallid lips. “Because, Lord Margrace, our interests are aligned. We both wish to see Larsa Solidor off the equation.”

Al-Cid was sworn to secrecy about his life and his occupation. However, in a matter of minutes, he divulged everything—about himself, Princess Serani, and his intentions with Queen Ashelia of Dalmasca. The senator simply listened and nodded his head. The Rozarrian could see the thousands of calculations going through Granch’s mind as he stroked his braided beard. 

“…and you’ll guarantee this?” Lord Margrace asked. 

Granch nodded. “Say but the word. The deed will be carried out, and your fate with Queen Ashelia will be sealed. This is our goal: to keep you under conditional sentence. Between the inquiries, we’ll make our move.” 

“Hah!” Al-Cid clapped, barely unable to understand his luck. “Surely you would not do this without interest. What may be yours?” 

“Not mine, but the Senate’s. The Solidors cannot rule forever. Now come, Lord Margrace. You’ve an inquiry to attend.” 

* * * * * 

An official inquiry on the Margrace case began at two in the afternoon. Judge Zargabaath, and two other lower judges, Cartney and fon Lausburg, headed the investigation. Al-Cid found himself walking into a large, dome-like arena. There were tiers of seats spiraling down to the center, and a hundred still eyes upon him. As he was prodded forward, another man was shoved back. It was a senator, just like Granch. Although he was much thinner and much more wrinkly, and sported a quiff hairdo. 

“The inquiry for Senator Marcel Lebleau has ended. We now call on Lord Al-Cid Margrace of Rozarria!” declared Judge fon Lausburg. 

In an act of grandeur, Al-Cid strutted in an opened his arms. He raised them to the heavens, as if taking in applause, and then took a long bow. But the Rozarrian got no ovation. “I thank thee, Lord Magister!” Now he looked around, scanning the crowd for faces that he could recognize. Immediately, he could identify the Archadian emperor, donning his diadem and gilded, velvety robe. Sitting alongside him was his cursed sister and Lord Rami Al-Kashir. 

Now the session began. 

Judge Zargabaah gained his position on an elevated podium. He folded his arms. “Lord Al-Cid Margrace, first of his name, ninth son of Emperor Al-Zedir of Rozarria, you are summoned to the Hall of Magisters by Archadia for an official inquiry.”

“And I have answered the subpoena, Judge Zargabaath.” 

“For this inquiry, do you swear, by Faram’s name, to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the tru—?”

“—Yes, yes, yes!” Al-Cid replied impatiently. “Who called for this inquiry, may I ask?” 

“His Excellency, Emperor Larsa Ferrinas Solidor.” 

Al-Cid looked up towards Larsa with a mirthless smile. “My little emperor—what have I done to win your hatred?” 

The emperor said nothing, but it was evident he was irritated. Larsa drummed his fingers loudly on the armrest of his golden chair. 

Zargabaath spoke up. “Are you aware that the inquiry’s heard of significant evidence of your unethical treatment on the agreement between Rozarria and Archadia?” 

“Hah! No, let me say this! I’ve done everything I can to accomplish peace. Ten years ago, I worked with His Excellency to achieve this very amity between our nations!”

“That is beyond the point, Lord Margrace.” 

“Then what is?” 

Zargabaath conjured some papers from within the podium. “People speak of your malfeasance. Princess Serani Margrace claims that she had already been committed to another noble family, House Al-Kashir of Nazan, yet you declared her as a willful consort of Emperor Larsa.” 

The Rozarrian shook his head. “I’d not the inkling of Serani’s affairs with Lord Rami Al-Kashir.” 

“ _Yahliq Furumbi!_ ” Serani shrilled from the crowd. _Lying snake!_

“ _Arun soud yahliq qi tur sarum_!” Al-Cid shouted back at his sister. _Better a snake than a whore!_

“Order!” Zargabaath thundered, pounding his gavel.

Al-Cid continued. “Are they bound under marriage, honorable magister?” 

“No, your grace.” 

“Then nothing is binding! Who am I to wander into my sister’s personal life? She does not reveal every detail of her dalliances! Had she but told me, I would have been quick to spare her from such inconvenience.” 

Now Judge Cartney spoke. “Lord Magister, allow me to bring up Princess Serani.” By the manner of his speech, Al-Cid knew that the judge was on the Rozarrian’s side.

“Do it,” Zargabaath ordered, moving backward so that the lower judge could take his place on the podium.

Cartney faced the princess. “And have you, Serani Margrace, openly told your brother of your relationship with Lord Rami?” 

“Well…” Serani opened her mouth, but found it tough to find the right words. Her brother shot her a dirty look. She could feel his palm on her face, ready to strike. She looked to Larsa anxiously, who gave her an approving nod. “Not exactly...I thought it was clear—Rami and I have spent much time together throughout the years, and we were always in the presence of brother…”

Larsa’s eyes widened. 

“You two never came across me as lovers, dearest sister!” Al-Cid commented.

The lower judge receded to the back of the magister. Whispering in his master’s ear, Cartney said. “Judge Zargabaath, there is clearly a disjoint in the story. Allow me to bring up Lord Rami Al-Kashir.”

“Overruled. There are too many threads we’ve yet to stitch together…” After a few moments, he voiced to the crowd: “Lord Margrace, Senator Lebleau has confessed of his knowledge of Lord Al-Kashir. If an Archadian senator has access to such information, what of you, your sister’s kin?” 

“I said it once—and I shall repeat it again—I know nothing of Rami’s intimate relationship with my sister!”

“If he does not know anything, your honor, then it would be senseless to ask his comments on it,” advised Cartney. 

“Are you acquainted with Senator Marcel Lebleau, your grace?” Zargabaath inquired. 

“I have only ever met him once, during Emperor Larsa’s coronation.” 

“And are you acquainted with any other members of the Archadian senate?” 

“No.” 

“You know of the Inbar Corporation?” 

“They’re one of the largest superconductor producers in Ivalice. It’s impossible for one not to know them.” 

“Senator Lebleau confessed to having struck a deal with Princess Serani about embargoing all products of Inbar in exchange for Lord Rami’s attention. Are you aware of such deal?”

“No. And how silly of my sister to have done so!” Al-Cid guffawed. “Why not lay charges against her as well? Has she not been questioned of her misdeeds?”

“She is innocent until proven guilty. She stands for inquiry in the next few days. The only matter we are concerned with this moment, Al-Cid, is you…” Zargabaath was silent for a while. “Hmm…what say you, fellow judges?”

Cartney contemplated, and then nodded. “Evidence of Al-Cid’s knowledge on Rami and Serani’s relationship is lacking. Lord Margrace could sooner prove innocent.”

His fellow judge, fon Lausburg, countered him. “But how should one explain Senator Lebleau’s knowledge on the issue? Surely the facts would not get through him if it were not from an outside source. The Rozarrian is lying through his teeth! He could be arrested for perjury.” 

Cartney looked to fon Lausburg. “But surely you must agree when I say we detain him for now. Keep him under a conditional sentence until the inquiry is over.” 

Al-Cid could not help but grin. 

That was agreeable for his comrade. “Yes, that would be the best course of action. Judge Zargabaath.”

It was decided. Zargabaath looked up at all the spectators. “Very well. Lord Al-Cid Margrace, you are requested to stay in Archadia until we make clear this matter.”

Al-Cid rushed forward to the podium. Two guards restrained him from advancing any further. “That’s not a request! It’s a detainment! An outrage! You cannot keep me captive in this land! My father will hear about this!”

Larsa rose from his seat. “Then let him hear. Let him know. Let the world know of the distrust you’ve caused us all.”

For once in his life, Al-Cid trembled in the presence of the Emperor. The Rozarrian had always thought Larsa a boy—an innocent figure that knew only docility and peacemaking. It was obvious now that he was someone to be reckoned with. Emperor Solidor had seen right through him…and perhaps he could see all the way to the end of the line Al-Cid had cast. 

The magister turned to the emperor. “Excellency, with all due respect, please allow me to conduct the session.” 

Balling a fist, Larsa breathed. “Apologies.” 

It was now decided. Zargabaath arced his mighty gavel overhead, and it came crashing down with the authority of a thousand Lady Justices. “Al-Cid Margrace will remain in Archadia, as will Princess Serani and Lord Rami for the remainder of the inquiry. Senator Lebleau is to undergo a trial on the first week of Plumfrost. We continue the probe this Thursday. That is all for now.”


	20. Amidst the Rainfall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A storm hits Fort Fylleborg. Basch's revelation—Ashe's destiny—Larsa's unexpected arrival.  
> Rain makes for deep conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I've got more free time on my hands now, so here's another chapter for you.  
> Our heroes are finally back in Fort Fylleborg. Many of them are transformed.  
> How would they react with each other? Keep on reading to find out!  
> [Airbendergal]

**CHAPTER 20: AMIDST THE RAINFALL**

Dark clouds droned through the skies. There was a distant pealing of thunder, and then the soft pour of rain. The drizzle intensified into a steady downpour, darkening the fortress stones. The courtyards turned a vibrant green, and the Peace Tree—with its starlit tresses—collected droplets as gossamers do with dew. Soldiers scouring the outer courtyard’s battlements remained unshaken, eyes ever on the sea. Those patrolling the inner courtyard continued their rounds, shivering and wet. 

From the watchtower, Judge Gabranth could see it all: every soldier, every life he held responsibility for. It must have been easy—to see them as pawns that could be moved around a chessboard, as pieces so easily discarded. But Gabranth had fulfilled a promise to his cousin: to see them in one piece until the fight was over. To leave this wretched place with minimal casualties. To desire a war with no losses was impossible. Each person had to play his or her part to end the fight, should that mean sacrifice to achieve it. 

“Thank you for answering my beckon, Queen Ashe,” Basch began, as the Dalmascan monarch entered the room with Laegd and Erryl. “I wouldn’t have called you here were it not important.”

Ashe’s lips thinned. “What is the matter, judge magister?” 

How ambiguous that question presented itself to Basch. He would have wanted to bring up all his regret for ever offending her. Instead, he looked to Laegd, and then to Erryl. His comrades nodded. “I’ve found Loemund’s motive for this war.” 

“What is it?” Ashe asked with wide eyes. 

“He means to find a successor for his crusade. A new ruler of the sea,” Basch explained. 

“Meaning?”

Gabranth paced around the room. “Not long ago, I visited Ronsenburg to conjure soldiers who would fight alongside us. Ayla fon Ronsenburg, mayor of the town, revealed details in the myth that we might have overlooked. Alas, here I was presented with the tale—Loemund, King of the Sea, would rise up every thousand years to find one that is worthy of becoming his next successor. I assume he tried to test Raithwall’s powers, however your ancestor was not deemed fit. The same circumstances befell the emperor. During his parley with the Sea-King, Loemund dismissed Larsa at a gut feel. I believe…” 

“…yes, Gabranth?” 

“I believe you are the one Sea-King the searches for.”

“You are the one who destroyed the paling, and called on Loemund’s wrath,” added Laegd in a voice different from his previous, hoarse speech. He was now more human than beast. His foul features had receded, and a semblance of a burly, dark-haired man took its place. Instead of ogling black eyes were brown ones that were brimming with life. “You hold the same potential as your predecessor, Queen Ashelia, but you are not Raithwall. You are different. Stronger!”

Ashe gritted her teeth. “And this is my destiny, to continue Loemund’s manslaughter? You believe this was my father’s will, when I saw his specter before the sigil? I will not stand for this!”

Gabranth smiled, but no one would see it under his metal mask. “No. I believe it is your destiny to stop him. And we can end this, your grace. Laegd has a solution.” 

Ashe looked to the anglerfish. “This is true, Laegd?”

The beast-man bowed lightly. “There is a way to the Core, and to the Ran Vali. We will use the helmet against the Sea-King, and put an end to him. Its connection to its master keeps Loemund tied to this fortress. If we are to destroy the Ran Vali, his power would be crippled, and he would not seek us out any longer.”

Ashe looked to Basch, and the judge nodded yet again. 

Laegd continued. “During these dull weeks, General Erryl and I scouted the fortress. There is a secret pass that runs under Fylleborg, and ends directly below the location of the Core. There is a pedestal, and on it a stone—the shard which keeps the Core afloat. However, it is shielded with another magickal sigil. If we were to break down this barrier, I believe the cathedral would stir, and the Ran Vali would be forced onto the ground.”

“We will need you to tear open that sigil,” Basch said. 

“Let us do it, then,” Ashe nodded, making it for the door. 

Laegd stopped her. “We cannot do it now. The pass reveals itself only during the low tide. The rains have made the place impassable. We must wait it out.” 

Out of nowhere came the blaring of the war horns. A deep and ominous tone resonated through the fortress. The judge magister raced to the window. He first looked to the sea, but saw nothing aside from the rough and swelling waters breaking against the reefs. Then, he looked to the mountain pass. A volatile, high shroud of mist stormed down the slope.

“Laegd, are these Loemund’s men?” Basch asked, beckoning the anglerfish to the window. 

The beast-man narrowed his focus onto the rising cloud. Scrunching his nose, he muttered. “Gabranth, it is your master.”

“The emperor?” Basch could hardly believe it. At first, he thought it a terrible illusion, or a trick pulled by the anglerfish. But it was not. Out of the billow came rushing seven imperial riders, and in the center of the formation were Judge Zargabaath and Larsa. They stopped in front of the gate now, which was barred with interwoven timbers. Gabranth leaned over the bulwark and thundered. “Open the gates!” 

The order was passed on, voices straining against the deluge. The timbers were drawn aside, and the group spilled into the outer courtyard. Two figures broke off from the center of the formation and made their flight up Fylleborg’s great heights. The drawbridge leading to the inner courtyards was let down. 

“Zargabaath?” Gabranth blinked.

“Larsa,” Ashe murmured as the emperor broke through the door. His wet hair was down and plastered to his face. His doublet now clung onto his body, revealing his broad shoulders and firm arms. 

“We’ve come as soon as we heard the news,” Zargabaath stated, walking to Basch. A trail of puddles followed in his wake. “Where is the emergency?” 

“What emergency?” Gabranth asked, more shocked than ever. 

“Excellency, the letter, if you will…” Zargabaath prompted Larsa from his shoulder. The judge magister held out a hand, and the emperor slipped a strip of paper onto Zargabaath’s palm. 

“Gabranth, you sent us this letter. It bears your penmanship and your signature,” Larsa said. “We’ve got the potion supplies, and the fire magicite. There are surgeons ready to aid the wounded.” 

Basch snatched the strip of paper from his partner's hand. He unfurled it and madly scanned the text. “Impossible. I would never see you back in this hellhole, Excellency!” he objected, and ran his eyes down the scrawling once again. It bore striking similarity to his own handwriting: thin and tall letters, loops atop the ‘o’s and all. “No, I have never sent this letter to you.”

Larsa looked down at the paper and then up to his protector. “Are you meaning to say that this message was forged?”

“Yes,” Basch replied, as an icy sweat wrapped him. “My lord, you should make your leave. This could be a trap.”

“You are right,” Zargabaath realized. “Excellency—”

“—No. I will not venture out in this weather,” Larsa decided. He looked to Ashe, who simply dipped her head. “We stay here until the storm clears out.” 

 

* * * * * 

 

Ashe curled up on her ottoman and pressed herself against a wall. Wrapped coverings around her neck-high. Shielded her ears as lightning split the sky. Thunderclaps followed like cannons. She winced, melting into the shape of a fetus. She hated the rain. 

A rapping came from the door. Immediately Ashe stretched out into a sitting position, straightening her back. Her hands fell into her lap. Regaining her queenly grace, she asked. “Who is it?” 

The door opened but slightly, and a pair of blue eyes peeked from within. “May I join you?” 

A sudden relief came to her. “Of course,” she sighed. “Come in, Larsa.” 

Now the emperor was dry, and he sported fresh clothes. His hair, still wet, was now combed back neatly and his bangs were drawn to the side of his face. He moseyed through the doorway, cautious and silent with his steps. It was as if he’d snuck away from someone. 

A flash of light burst outside the window. “Eek!” Ashe stifled a screech and hunkered down. Her cheeks turned hot. To think the Queen of Dalmasca would be afraid of the weather! 

“You are weary of the storm?” Larsa hung his head. 

“I’ve a burning hate for rain,” she muttered, face half-buried under a cloth. She could see his figure wander away from her—and his silhouette won out against a mighty bolt. “Eek!” 

“Why?” Larsa asked concernedly. He ventured towards the window, whence the source of thunder came.

“It…brings back memories,” she admitted though painful to permit. “Larsa, don’t go there! Eee…”

“Why?” he repeated with a wolfish smile. The emperor rested his hands on the sill, and craned his neck a bit over the edge. Now Larsa looked back at her again, and she was shaking her head angrily.

“You’ll fall!” she fretted. “Get back here now—eek!” 

A third lash of lightning belted the sky before them. “Ack!” Larsa cried, tripping backwards. 

Ashe screeched and leapt off the couch, and there were tears in her eyes. Frightened tears. “Oh gods! Are you alright?” she asked the man, who was now rubbing his aching bottom. What should have hurt him only caused him joy. There was a fit of laughter. Ashe slapped his shoulder, flustered! “This is a joke?” 

“Worry not, Queen Ashe. I do not mean ill by it,” Larsa chuckled, and she rolled her eyes. The emperor stood up and swatted his clothes. “The rain should clear out in a few hours, said Weather-Eye. Your seeq adviser has been correct about the forecasts thus far.” 

“He’s got a gift for those things,” Ashe commended the seeq. Now she turned towards him, but her eyes went another way. “Larsa, if I may be so bold to ask…”

“What is it?” he said, as the laughter petered away.

“Stay a bit longer, just until I figure out this Ran Vali,” Ashe requested gently. “I shan’t keep you here for long, I promise. There’s a tunnel under the fortress. Laegd says there is a stone down there that that controls the gravity of the Core. When the storm clears out, our group will make the trip.” 

Larsa was silent for a while. “I…suppose I could stay,” he decided. “I’d rather remain here than in Archades as of late.”

Ashe smiled. “Thank you.” The queen returned to her ottoman, and wrapped the blanket around her. The chilly air caused her to shiver, and her breaths drew white threads. “So it’s true, then? I’ve been hearing about Princess Serani. She is with child?” 

“Yes,” the emperor replied, sighing. “The Hall of Magisters concluded her inquiry before we left. I’m ordering the princess back with Lord Rami to Ambervale.” 

“And what of Al-Cid?” 

“We do not know why he deliberately offered his sister despite her bonds with House Al-Kashir. Lord Margrace claims innocence for now. Though, there is strong evidence against him…” 

“Al-Cid visited Dalmasca not long ago. He offered me his hand in marriage, you know…” And she snuck a glance at him, curious of his response. 

Larsa’s face was stiff. “And…?” 

“I told him I needed more time,” she said, piquing his interest even more. 

“Do you even have feelings for him?” Larsa asked, taking his place beside her on the ottoman. 

Ashe pursed her lips. “It’s not that simple.”

“Of course not.” 

The queen clammed up, putting her knees to her chin. “We have put ourselves in great agony. We have shed needless tears…” she said, and then looked to Larsa. “Have I…done wrong?” 

The emperor touched his sternum. “What does this say?” 

Queen Ashe felt a stirring beneath her breast. She was filled with turbulent emotions. “We must stop insisting to find love in the wrong places.” 

“So our searches renew. Love will come when it will. And we will be fine.” 

A quiet fell over them. There they sat, eyes ever intent on each other. It was as if, for a moment, they had understood each other’s pain. And yet, there was something deeper than that—compassion, a slant of light beaming into their souls, speaking, ‘I will be here for you.’ 

Larsa stood now, placed his hands behind his back, and strode to the window. A gesture of deep reflection. The rain had muddled down into a light drizzle, and there were patches of sun tearing through the tattered clouds. “The rain has weakened. Shall we go forth?” 

“Let us wait…just a while longer…” Ashe drawled. She was taking in the meaning of their conversation.

“By your word,” Larsa nodded. In his heart, he did the same.


	21. Surging Tides

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Journey into to the fortress bowels—Ashe's vision—the great tide.  
> Loemund returns, and with him, the wrath of the sea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I apologize for the delay in this chapter. I have been very busy juggling my own personal projects and getting ready for the school-year to start. I hope (and am determined) to continue writing the story even when the semester begins. I hope to get to the good parts before the first day of class. Majors is really tricky, but I will get through it. Anyway, here's the chapter! Enjoy!

**Chapter 21: SURGING TIDES**

Laegd lead them into the bowels of the fortress, to a place that had never known light. It smelled of mildew and petrichor, scents that made sour the taste. Ashe was bewildered by the sheer vastness of Fylleborg’s underground. It could have run five stories or deeper into the earth. They had already descended numerous stairwells and traversed its labyrinthine halls. She was impressed at the beast-man’s navigation. The queen would have surely gotten lost would she have traveled alone. 

“This place is immense,” Basch commented, beaming his torch forward. He could barely see three yards before his light petered out. 

“How did you discover this place?” Ashe asked Laegd.

The anglerfish replied from his shoulder. “I paid a visit to the seamen’s graves not long ago. As I said before, their memorial lies beneath the fortress, at sea level. One of the sepulchers in the crypt was not a sepulcher at all, but an entrance into the secret pass. I doubled through the maze. There lies an entire nexus of passageways and shortcuts to access different parts of the fortress…” 

The beast-man stopped. There was a fork in the road. Laegd faced right. Hesitated. Took a turn to the left. The rest of the group lagged behind him, both unsure and untrusting of his decision. 

“This is the way? Are you certain?” Basch called out.

Whoosh. Laegd spun around, and fire flickered at the judge. The anglerfish gave him a nod. “Yes, master. Forward we go.” 

“We are truly fortunate to have Laegd in our ranks,” Larsa commented, picking out his footing. The floor had now transitioned from concrete to soil. There were broken bits of rock that made the path uneven. It was as if the builder of the fortress had suddenly given up on the structure. 

Deeper they went, until they heard a low, rushing sound. The stones of the fortress had broken off completely, and were replaced by natural rock. The ceiling opened up into a hundred-foot cavern. No one could see all the way to the top. There were the eerie prattle of bats and the sporadic sound of water breaking against rocks. The air became salty and reminded them of the sea. 

Lowering his torch, Laegd revealed to them a shallow pool wavering in the dim. “It is not far until we reach the base of the Core. This is the place I speak of—it is impassable in the high tide. The water rushes through that crevice over yonder. Now careful, as the pool is knee-deep.” He was the first to step into the light waters. His webbed feet rippled in the crystalline film. 

Basch was second to drop into the pool. The water was ice cold, and sent goose bumps up his spine. Shuddering, he planted his feet well. His boots sank an inch or two into fine swaths of sand. He reached out his hand for anyone to take. Larsa moved behind Ashe and let the queen go first. She glimpsed at the emperor before moving forward. 

Ashe aimed her foot into the water. She gripped Basch’s hand firmly and lowered herself into the pool. But it was a low drop, much lower than she had expected. She lost her footing on an uneven rock. She felt herself tilt the other way. Basch’s grip on her tightened as her wrist twisted in his palm. Half of her body splashed into the water, and she would have been completely soaked were it not for the judge’s quick reflexe. He pulled her out, and gripped her close just in time. 

“Are you hurt?” Larsa called from the ledge above. 

“I’m fine!” Ashe called back, feeling her clothes plaster against her skin. Much worse, she felt herself plastered to _him_. Her head was stuck against Basch chin, and she felt his beard against her forehead. Quickly, she tore herself away, sighing. “Thank you, Judge Gabranth.” 

“Queen Ashe,” Basch replied flatly. 

So it had come to this. A shame that his name had been reduced to a title. Even in the presence of Laegd, who had known of Basch’s real identity, Ashe chose to identify him as another. Had Captain Basch had become a stranger, no longer alive to her as the true Judge Gabranth was? 

The magister simply dipped his head. There were vicious sloshing sounds. The queen had continued off on her own, surely and confidently. She was already halfway to the other side when Emperor Larsa descended into the water. Basch aided his master further into the pool until he had gotten a grip of the surroundings. 

The two men made their way forward, swilling cross the loch.

“My faith in you remains strong,” Larsa told his protector. “You have not failed me in this endeavor, Gabranth. In that I give you my thanks. The soldiers sing of your victories. I’ve heard them chant it in the night.” 

“Your words fill me with vigor, my lord. I live only to serve….” Basch replied with a light bow. The mild current of the water could have challenged his steps, but he remained surefooted, eager to catch up with the rest. “This war, though made me weary, has opened my eyes to new truths.”

“I too have been changed…” the emperor said, locking his eyes on the path, and the woman, ahead. “And what of these epiphanies?” 

“My lord, I have not returned to my homeland in thirty years, ever since Emperor Gramis laid siege to Landis…” He was uncertain to continue, knowing how sensitive Larsa was when it came to talking about his father. The judge stopped in his tracks, looking to the emperor for reassurance. 

“You may speak freely, Basch,” Larsa told him. 

Gabranth nodded. “Nothing shames us more than to reflect upon our mistakes. I should not have left you, my lord, and I was a fool for doing so. However, I sought out this mission as atonement for my sin, leaving my sick mother and brother during the dawn of the Archadian occupation. T’was an act of greed.” 

“But you have rallied the troops. You have wagered your life countless times for Archadia’s cause. Here you pay your debt. There is no shame in that.” 

Basch smiled. “My lord is a man grown. He needs not protection at all times.” 

“But I would value your presence. Now, and in the future,” the master smiled back. 

“The future? My mind is filled with unease of what is to come,” Basch confessed. He wished he could have told Larsa about his troubles with Ashe, but the judge did not want to burden his emperor any further. More than that, it was in that moment that he’d uncovered a flash of jealousy within him. The subject flipped, just like that. “I see your diplomacies with the queen have been successful.” 

The poignancy of his protector’s tone seemed to strike a chord within Larsa. He uncovered the message hidden between his protector’s words. “I will stay until the Ran Vali is retrieved, as Queen Ashe requested. There is nothing for me in Archades.”

“There is nothing for you here but pain and suffering. What of your duties, my lord? What of Princess Serani? She seeks your utmost attention. You must leave.” The tone was delivered forebodingly, as if Basch had wanted his master out right away.

“Serani is returning to Rozarria, and should Zargabaath permit, with her lord brother. Al-Cid forced her into this arrangement, knowing fully well that she was engaged to another lord. Our pact is nullified. My search renews.” 

Basch’s mouth hung open. “A tale most misfortunate,” he muttered. “My sorrows.”

“Come now,” Larsa beckoned, lifting himself out of the water. They had reached the other end of the pool. Ashe extended her arm, and the emperor reached for it. She pulled him out of the water and aided him onto the rock ledge. The two monarchs followed behind Laegd, into another tunnel.

A tide swept forward, and was siphoned into the crevice. It broke against the wall, sending loud crashing echoes that filled the cavernous space. “A tale most misfortunate,” Basch repeated to himself as he capered out of the water on his own.

* * * * * 

The group had reached the site of the sigil. Before them, towering at over a hundred feet, rose a sigil that pulsed with a ghostly light. Blood mist seeped from its shocking red patterns. It had death drawn all over its indecipherable designs. 

“Do you sense anything?” Laegd asked Ashe. 

The queen moved forward, marching closer to the sigil. She rose her right hand. At first, there was nothing but a whisper of a breeze. Ashe closed her eyes, attempting to channel into her what magic might have been left in the place. Then she heard it. The distant pealing of a bell. The sound of a thousand feet rushing all at once. Her body was trembling. The mist flurried around her. 

“What is happening to her?” Larsa asked with wide eyes. He moved forward, but Basch stopped his master before he advanced. 

“We have witnessed it before. She is communicating with the memories of the place. My lord, do not attempt to stop it.”

The bells tolled louder. The rampage of clatters drew nearer. Ashe was no longer in the passage, but upon the battlements of Fylleborg. Ghostly shapes of soldiers passed through and through her in slow motion. Lancers, light archers, foot soldiers. They all took their positions across the courtyard. She saw the banners of Rozarria, Archadia, Nabradia and Dalmasca rise and take flight. 

And there, riding down to the beach, was a man made of the sun. He was a vast warrior on a chariot of four gilded chocobos. His armor glittered with a golden brilliance. In one hand he bore a great-sword, and on the other a magic rock. “King Raithwall…” Ashe realized, staggering forward. In no time, she was running towards the ramparts. Faster and faster she sped. Unable to stop her advance, she bounded off the wall. She took into the sky. Flew hundreds of meters off the ground. Ashe leaned forward, and like an arrow she rained. She zoomed down onto the outer wall, crash landing onto a stack of shields. 

“Loemund!” the queen screamed as she spotted the Sea-King raging out of the swell. 

The monster was there, and he looked entirely different. The Loemund Ashe had known paled in comparison to the one in this vision. This Sea-King had a thickset built—burly arms that popped with veins, and a muscular head thick with antler-like corals. Sitting above his orange horns was what Ashe supposed was the Ran Vali. It was the same helmet that her father’s ghost had carried into the fortress. 

“The Dynast-King Raithwall!” Loemund thundered with a cackling laugh. His presence stirred the waves up from the deep. They rose skyward, its whitecaps solidifying into icy claws. 

Barely able to control her powers, Ashe bounded off again. She leapt of the outer wall and bounced onto the beach. Hitting the sand, she caught enough momentum to barrel roll. “Raithwall!” she cried. 

The dynast-king heeded her not. The man leapt of his chariot. The ground shook with each of his steps. The chocobos squawked and heeled, heralding their master as he brandished his mighty blade. 

“Raithwall, son of greed!” Loemund thundered over the sound of raging waters. “I thought you worthy of this cause, but you have revealed to me your own grievous crusade. How far shall you venture for it?”

The Dynast-King motioned a slash, and the air shuddered before him. “There is a power greater than yours, and it is Order. I must finish you. Your end shall be the beginning of peace. The nation-states have decided. An alliance is to be formed, and you have no place in it!”

“If your peace destroys the world, my nation will not be a part of it! You, and those other power-hungry fools will tear down every tree. Fill every piece of the sky with smoke from your wars. You will kill every creature of the sea! Let it be known today, Raithwall! I curse you—and your descendants! You, who walk the path of avarice and hubris—yours shall be the end of days!” 

Ashe saw the icy claws rain down upon her ancestor. His blade went up to deflect the spikes, but they pierced him down. They buffeted him like a storm of arrows, passing through him, shattering him like glass. Ashe saw the column of frigid death come towards her. She tried to sprint, but she couldn’t outrun it. The thorns came over her. She heard her bones crush under their weight. She screamed. 

Snapped awake. 

 

* * * * *

 

“What have you seen?” asked the anglerfish. 

Before Ashe could have responded, the sigil burst violently. There was a blast of light that sent everyone flying back. The paling hissed like a fire freshly put out. 

Ashe leapt to her feet and ran forward, into what seemed to be a shrine. On a pedestal lay a stone, just as Laegd had described it. Upon closer inspection, it looked much like something out of the past. “Larsa, look! It bears semblance of manufactured nethicite!”

The emperor was still on his knees. Basch helped the emperor to his feet. Larsa ran to her, and squinted his eyes at the rock. Inside it, light swirled and swelled. “Indeed. How curious. This will affect the Core’s gravity?” he asked her. 

“We shall see,” Ashe replied, grabbing the stone. 

“Ashe, no—!”

The woman tossed it to the ground with sudden force. The rock shattered. Shards spilled across her feet. A pillar of light flew skywards, stamping a hole through the mountain above them. Whatever was in its path dissolved. A ray of blinding light came down. Larsa shielded his eyes and writhed, but Ashe kept her stare up. Above her, black speck shielded the sun, and grew bigger with each passing second. It didn’t take her long to realize that she had been staring at the bottom of the floating cathedral. It was lowering itself to the ground. The queen clutched Larsa’s arm. “We’ve done it! Look!”

The emperor, though finding it hard to look at the sun, glimpsed up for a second. It was enough for him to validate his own joy. He’d gotten the glimmer of the speck. They had completed the task. Ashe had never looked happier. She was laughing and sighing, and he couldn’t help but laugh along. 

Basch grinned, but it all felt so bittersweet. The job was done, wasn’t it? He should have felt fulfilled, but the transience of it all bothered him. If they truly were to get the helmet, the battle would be over. His time in Landis would be done, and the world would get back to its own, steady pace. He would return to Archadia with his emperor, and continue his days in service. He would be the same dead man with same dead name. And should he be truly unlucky, he would have witnessed his master with one he loved. 

They doubled back to the pool, but soon stopped at the edge of the rock face. There was a serenity—an eerie silence—that befell the cavernous space. The bats had stopped screeching; they were all curled up in their niches, shuddering. The breakwater had been silenced. 

“The water, where is it going?” Larsa asked, as his eyes followed its movement. 

The tide was pulling away, much faster than it should. The crevice had swallowed most of the pool, revealing the sand and rocks and shelled creatures that lay beneath. Basch’s eyes widened, and a cold knot formed in his stomach. He looked to Laegd. The beast-man shared in his same stunned look. 

“We need to get to high ground. Now,” Basch said gravely. “Where is the exit?” 

“Over here. Follow me!” Laegd cried, leaping into the emptied pool. 

Judge Gabranth grabbed the queen’s wrist and they jumped into puddle. Emperor Larsa followed on their heels. The two rulers were confused, but they never doubted their comrades’ fear. There was something wrong. Terribly wrong. And it was coming fast. Terribly fast. 

“What is happening?” Ashe asked, trying to wriggle out of Basch’s wrist.

“No time to explain. We must run!” Basch replied, throttling forward. 

There was a low, ominous rumble, growing louder with each passing moment. Laegd showed them to a ladder, and they scrambled up, and up, and up, scaling over a hundred feet. The anglerfish kicked the ceiling open, and the hatch plopped up. The sea breeze kicked into their noses. Basch was second to descend, followed by Ashe, and then the emperor. 

The four of them had emerged at the third tier, behind the tresses of the Peace Tree. The great willow bent and swayed, as if wanting to shield its face. The wind was terribly strong. 

“Shit,” Basch cursed beneath his breath. He ran to the battlements and shouted at the top of his lungs. “FALL BACK! FALL BACK!”

The alarums rung, and so did the war horns. Everything was happening so fast that the soldiers had barely any time to react. 

“What’s wro—?” Ashe’s words were hardly done before the answer dawned. 

There was a massive wall of water coming from the horizon. It raged across the seas, swallowing the swells in its path. Larger and larger it became, rising to a height of over two hundred meters. And it was heading towards the fortress with great speed.

“ _FALL BACK_!” Basch yelled again. “ _WAAAAAVEEEE_!”

The soldiers simply looked up at him. They did not know of the danger coming from behind the wall. They complied at a pace that could have only been described as agonizing. The chocobos were brought to the heads of the columns, along with the bannermen, and then—

—time seemed to slow down. 

The shadow of the wave blotted out the sun. 

The water’s crest bested the outer wall, towering it at over double its height. The soldiers turned towards the sea. The stones of the ramparts shook, and fissures forked between the slabs. There was a loud, snapping noise before the mighty surge fell on them. 

The great wave bore the ramparts. Leveled the walls. The water tumbled and crushed the ranks. Many fell. Disappeared under the trough of the tide. The surge, unstoppable, flooded the outer courtyard. The water heaved, carrying away the chocobo stables. The mounts shrilled and were pulled into the undertow. The sea turned red with the blood of soldiers. 

Then, out of the roon waters, emerged the Sea-King. He rose in a column of spiraling water, controlling the currents with his magus staff. 

“ _Noooo_!” Basch screamed in agony. He execrated Loemund, and his own gods. 

Ashe gritted her teeth, pulled at her hair.

Larsa could only watch in horror as lifeless bodies banged against the inner courtyard’s walls. They were sweeping and roiling amidst the swell—corpses with blood-drenched faces suspended in shock. A feeling ran up his throat. He was chucking up vomit, and he couldn’t stop it. 

Loemund drew himself closer to the wall, siphoning up more pillars of water. As flowers bloom from buds, so did monsters reveal themselves from the crowns of the white crests. They were misshapen golems with magicite for eyes—clumps of black shale made for their torso and limbs. 

“Bolster the paling!” Judge Gabranth yelled. 

The remaining mages conjured a mystic shield that stretched vertically over the inner wall. What would have surely stopped the foes failed, to the judge’s chagrin. The golems launched themselves onto the battlements, flying out the water. They passed through the paling undeterred—the magic field evaded them, as if in fear. The mages gasped. 

“How were they able to bypass the magic?” Ashe asked, shocked. 

“Their eyes—that’s no magicite,” Larsa said. “It’s nethicite.”


	22. Long May He Reign

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A countryman's life unwinds at the sword of another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thank you for your patience! Here is the latest chapter of King of the Sea! Honestly, I had a very hard time writing this chapter. The stylistics are as hard to manage as the emotional baggage that comes with it. I think I delayed it more than I should because I wasn't mentally and emotionally prepared. Anyway, my classes have started. I will still continue to update, but the chapters may be more sporadic. I hope you continue to stick with me to very end, because it's ending very soon anyways! Keep reading, and give me your thoughts! -Airbendergal

**CHAPTER 22: LONG MAY HE REIGN**

The golems rain down in groups. Black shale shatters the ground. The earth cracks beneath their steps. There are thirty of them, there could be more. The monsters advance through the inner wall, and their ranks grow in numbers. The sea has eaten up the outer courtyard now, and Loemund lays airborne upon his tidal pillar. He watches the golems, controlling them with his magic. Burning arrows fly, but cannot reach him. The Sea-King is beyond the range of the archers, and his monsters are but boulders flung by trebuchets.

Judge Zargabaath lead the artillery up on the wall. There were archers and gunners, whom he commanded them to about-face. Guns were cocked, and bows drawn. Soldiers flanked the enemy rocks with their projectiles. A hailstorm of bolts met the monsters. Whistling, the arrows ricocheted off the golem backs effortlessly. The shotguns were barely enough to chip off the beasts' stony skins. The golems continued their advance, slowly but surely.

Now the cavalry made their move. Generals Erryl and Krjn came into the shock in two walls. The formations were much less dense, as many of the riders and mounts had perished. They were down by half their numbers, but with staunch bravery, the cavalry followed through the charge. The enemies, to the riders' surprise, were cunning. The golems punched into the ground, creating deep trenches that interrupted the lines. The chocobos were forced to break out of the formations, and the riders were scattered like marbles.

"Attack!" General Erryl cried, whipping out his javelin. He raced towards a golem, focusing his lance on a spot between the eyes.

The bangaa was close enough to strike a blow when his eyes deceived him. The golem collapsed into what seemed to be black sand. In no time it was reforming, tripling in number. Three smaller monsters struck out of the pile. Erryl heeled his beast, swerving it into one. He casted his shaft through the first, shattering it. To a second one he did the same. As he was about to hit the third beast, there was a shuffling noise. The rocks piled on themselves, reshaping the fallen golems. "They reanimate!" Erryl cried. "They become many men!"

Now all the golems did the same, breaking down into three many-men. The Sea-King's army instantly tripled in number. Thirty beasts turned into ninety, and were clearing the courtyard with impossible speed. As phoenixes are reborn from flames, so did the many-men reanimate. Soldiers slashed and hacked at the monsters, but quick as they fell, just as quick did they rise. The sounds of dreaded clash filled the courtyard.

The infantry joined the skirmish not long after. Six assaulting columns flooded into the inner courtyard and poured between the golem-dug trenches. The many-men formed their fists into mauls, and pounded through the ranks. Blows from the soldiers were harmless; blows from the rocks were fatal.

"How are we to stop them?" a soldier cried. And another, "We are doomed!"

Zargabaath tossed himself into the chaos. He drew out his dual blades and launched himself onto a many-man. The swords dug deep into the rock beast's bosom. The judge magister twisted his blades. The stones crumbled, but rearranged yet again. A second time did Zargabaath cast his weapons, channeling magic into the beast. "Die!" The rocks shattered in a fiery explosion, shrapnel flinging in all directions.

The rocks lay in pieces. Zargabaath lunged into another, but just as he had turned his back on the pile, the monster reformed and rammed into him. The judge magister crashed into another imperial, and their metals entangled. "Get away!" cried the elite soldier, struggling to tear himself from a poor swordsman.

The swordsman wheeled sideways before a many-man's stone arm delivered a fatal blow. The beast pinned itself to the ground unwittingly. It was struggling and yapping. Zargabaath noticed this one bore the crystal eyes. He leapt to his feet and broke into a dash, driving the sword through the many-man's gleaming eyes. The crystals shattered. Three rocky golems exploded into fine powder. "Aha! It is their eyes, the crystals! The golem's progenies bear little fault! Cast your weapons onto the parent many-man! Once it is destroyed, its clones follow!"

The infantry was made to keep possession Fylleborg's ground. The soldiers had to guard the spots they held with his or her life. However the onslaught of the many-men were fatal. Zargabaath's orders were scattered between the clash of swords and stones. In fear and confusion, the many-men managed to reach the third wall. They scaled the face as easily as spiders would. There were twenty, or more, reaching the heights of the Peace Tree.

Gabranth called upon what remained of the infantry. Lancers raced to the edges of the bulwarks, ready to strike down any foe emerging between the squares. The first many-man sprang up, and grappled a spearhead of a lancer. The soldier was dragged overboard, falling hundreds of feet to his doom. The second many-man, this time with crystal eyes, staggered onto a crenellation. Another lancer, with indomitable luck, smashed the shining eyes with perfect timing. The foe burst into black powder, as did its children below it.

Now the lancers were waving and piercing through rising rocks. Walls of black slate were building up upon the battlements. The many-men flooded over the bulwarks in a brutish landslide, tumbling and crashing into metal men. The garden of the Peace Tree turned into a fresh patch of war. Blood splatters bloomed upon its sacred ground; men were weeded and trampled on.

Gabranth took out his great-sword. Fires streamed down its shining blade. Rage carried him into the fray. He struck upon the many-men and saw them fall, yet only to see them rise up yet again. "Protect the emperor!" he cried, cutting through a hurling rock. "Protect the queen! Grahm!"

The plumed forces of Grahm stormed through the threshold with interlinked tower shields. Like a massive battering ram, they throttled through the tussle. Many-men were tossed aside, landing on their rears. The rocks rocked on their curved backs, and unable to regain their footing, were defeated by the rear of the blue-feathered column. As magicians disappear in a puff of smoke, so did many-men pull off disappearing acts.

Grahm's men surrounded the emperor, creating two rings around him. The outer ring's shields went up all in sync, while the inner ring's swords were pointed out. Gabranth would have commended their formation, but Granch's men still had much to learn when it came to synchronization. He would have corrected them on the spot, were it not for the many-man who came vaulting towards him.

"Grah!" Basch cried, heaving the weight of his sword through the enemy stone. Burnt debris scattered and reassembled. Fine powder eddied and solidified into a solid, moving structure. The rocks were reattaching themselves, forming a massive golem with vast shale arms. "Our blows wound them not! Laegd, with me!"

Queen Ashe was surrounded by her own plethora of swordsmen. For a moment she thought herself a captive in Imperial hands, but then realized that they protected her. These soldiers created a box around her, and waited for any enemy to come into critical range before striking. Ashe drew out her own sword and buckler, ready to attack anyone who would have passed through her guardian swords.

The many-men were drawn towards the Dalmascan queen as moths were to a flame. The rocks barreled forward with full-force, drawing fear and rage from the Imperial Guard. The shock of the clash was a thunderclap. Metal crumpled and screeched. Bodies were knocked into the air, and limbs were flattened like paper under the weight of the stones.

Ashe dodged a pommelling rock. She struck her sword against its back but barely scratched it. Like a maddened bull the many-man came running back, but again she evaded it. Nimbly she twisted and wheeled, shirking the enemy attacks, but quickly she was losing breath. She was panting and shaking and her throat was running dry. She attempted to strike a many-man yet again, this time on its shoulder. Its arm plopped off, twitching and swiveling. She conjured a bolt of light, casting it right at its chest. "Holy!" The white light exploded, sending a burst in all directions. The crystals of this one's eyes erupted. The beast was reduced to fine powder, as was two others in sync. "That's it! Aim for the crystal eyes!"

"Aim for the eyes!" Larsa repeated, hearing Ashe's words over the clash.

"Yes, my lord!" Granch replied. He boomed at his men. "The eyes, the eyes!"

A few many-men attempted to attack the emperor, but little could pass through his man-made fortress. The plumed imperials were quickly withdrawing through a sea of battle. Larsa could see nebulous shapes of slaughter behind his guardian's tower shields. His feet were moving on their own, dictated by the direction of his protectors' movements. "Where are we going?"

"To safety, my lord!" Granch cried. "Faster, men! They're getting to us! Hooh—hah!"

"Hooh—hah! Hooh—hah!" The feathered men chanted in sync, moving their swords and shields to the beat of the chant. "Hooh—hah! Hooh—hah!"

"The queen, we cannot leave without her!" Larsa demanded. "I order you to stop!"

But the men continued moving, and he was shoved back. "Hooh—hah! Hooh—hah!"

The beat eddied around him in a trance-like song. "Hooh—hah! Hooh—hah!"

"Stop, I say, stop!" Furious this time. His voice was high and brittle. They were drawing away; so far he could barely see her. And there was something in his heart that went cold.

"Hooh—hah! Hooh—hah! Hooh—hah! Hooh—" Their voices sprang louder than the din of battle. Words battered Larsa's ears, leaving his head throbbing at its sheer insanity. "Hooh—hah! Hooh—hah!"

Hooh—hah!

The tower shields closed upon each other, creating a solid ring with no spaces in between.

Hooh—hah!

The inner ring of soldiers spun around, and their blades turned on him.

Hooh—hah!

That was when the emperor realized that the formation was not protection. Rather it was a cage; and he the animal inside to be slaughtered.

Hooh!

The first blade came towards him, but Larsa deflected it with his sword-breaker. Another sword brandished, but he blocked it yet again. The third came crashing down upon his armor, leaving a deep gash upon the emperor's pauldrons.

Hah!

The swords were coming at him from all sides. But he couldn't come to kill anyone. They were his men! Human lives! Larsa's fear of violence became his greatest handicap that day.

Hooh!

The fourth blade found its way into a weak point of his armor. Dug into his flesh.

Hah!

Blood welled out of his arm. He quickly reached for his side, pulling out a potion. The glass slipped and shattered away from his shaking hands.

Hooh!

The fifth blade landed on his left shoulder, and in shock Larsa released his shield. All thirteen swords closed in now, as shark teeth do when about to devour its prey.

Hah!

"Gabranth!" Larsa yelled. He could see his protector fighting behind shuddering plumes. "Gabranth, help!"

Hooh!

The sixth blade found its niche on a vulnerable part of the man's armor, right between the plates that cover the belly. "Ga—branth!" Larsa called again through bloody coughing fits. "Ga—Uck! Uck! Uck!—Ba!"

Hah!

His words fell under the tower shields, unheard by the judge magister.

Hooh!

Now the Archadian emperor fell to his knees, slipping and swaying in his own blood.

Hah!

The seventh blade came, biting him right where the shoulder meets the neck. Larsa grabbed for that part, groaning in pain.

Hooh!

The monarch melted into a fetal position, coughing and gurgling his blood. So this is how it would end. He would have wanted to pass in his sleep, or surrounded by children of his own. Alas, fate was cruel. A countryman's life unwinds at the sword of another.

Hah!

He gathered in wind. The swords sang. Stung his flesh and bones. At a last-ditch attempt he steeled himself to call out his protector's true name. **"BAAASCH!"**

Hooh!

The words flew heavenward, streaking past the plumes. Upon wounded ears they landed, striking straight Gabranth's heart. His entire being suddenly turned cold; his soul lifted from the ground, suspended in distress. The judge magister turned towards the plumed men, with their tower shields raised high. "Master?"

Hah!

A soldier came forth, mounting himself on the emperor. With a flick of his hand, his visor went up, revealing a face that would have shamed any soul. Larsa couldn't make it out at first, but then it was clear. His deliverer was Justice, balancer of the scales. "S-Skeele…uck—uck—uck!"

Hooh!

Skeele fon Ronsenburg, hidden under a plumed hide, flourished a roon-covered sword. The Landisian's weight on Larsa was a thousand tons, but his guilt made it infinitely heavier. For a moment the emperor accepted: perhaps this was the way to go. What a fitting death for a coward. Peacemaker was simply a guise.

Hah!

The Landisian leaned in now, pressing his lips against Larsa's ear. In a voice colder than death, Skeele whispered, "Long may he reign."

Hooh!

The sword buried hilt-deep into Larsa's side. His eyes shot open. A cruel sound escaped his lips, a tone inhumane. The world faltered and flickered. The light drained from his sights.

Hah!

Suddenly there was a crash. A man on fire hurled himself through the ranks. The ring was broke; the wall of secrets crushed. Tournesol and its wielder fell upon the plumed men's swords. Rage carried Basch into the very center of the fray. He hacked and slash mercilessly—disemboweling, beheading, decapitating arms and legs!—leaving no man unaccounted for. Granch's men would pay the punishment of blood. He—judge magister! He—upholder of the law! He—protector of the emperor! He would restore Order!

Some plumed soldiers ran in reckless abandon, only to be cornered by another man. This time Judge Zargabaath joined the battle, capturing those who would have hurried off. "Gabranth, you must stop!" He said, bashing his weapon against a feathered man. The soldier fell unconscious, a fate luckier than death. "We must know who is responsible!"

Zargabaath's words meant nothing to Basch. He continued to kill with no respite. Eight soldiers fell to his blade, and there were more yet to come. But before he was able to strike another, Tournesol was met by two others. His fellow magister blocked his impending attack. Tournesol was flung sideways; its tip grazed the ground. In an orotund voice, Zargabaath announced, "Surrender now and you will be spared! Emperor Larsa's mercy prevails even in his demise!"

Plumed soldiers dropped their swords and shields. Blood-drenched hands were raised skywards in submission. The Imperial army enveloped the assassins, seizing those who conspired against their lord. Plumed corpses were lumped together. Black piles of dust were scattered with the winds. Many-men were driven back into the sea. And there, in the middle of the ramshackle affair, lay the body of a man Basch knew as friend and master.

Gabranth raced to Larsa, still flat on the ground. His breaths were shallow and hoarse. His eyes fluttered in a way telling of death. Basch had seen it before. Rasler. Nalbina. The loss of an entire nation was at his hands yet again. He could only stare down dumbstruck, as images of his brother washed before his eyes.

Protect the young lord. Protect Larsa.

The deluge began to pour again, darkening the stones of the fortress. The sky's water mixed in with the blackened dust and blood on the ground. The deathly stew stank and covered the courtyards in a macabre film.

There was a gasp from Basch's side. The clatter of heels. A woman fell onto his master, sighing and suppressing wails. The Queen of Dalmasca clasped the emperor, holding his head close to her breast. She moaned, embraced him, and placed her cheek upon his own. And she cried, as she had never done before. Her tears melted in with the forsaken rain.

It was a stormy night, the night her husband died—she remembered.


	23. The Judge's Hauberk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Now was one of those moments when Zargabaath had the gusto to speak. It was a rare occasion that called for it. Archadia—his empire, his master—was tottering on the brink of disarray. The scales had tipped in favor of a nameless oppressor. He had seen two Solidor emperors fall, and he could not bear to see a third."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello readers!  
> Thank you so much for your unwavering patience. Once school started, the workload slammed me like a truck going at max speed. Honestly, the pressure is on and I've been having a lot of breakdowns. But I wouldn't abandon you guys, not since the story is getting sooooo good. And we're reaching the climax. Gaaahhh. Here's a chapter to reward you for your patience. Keep on reading.  
> Airbendergal

**CHAPTER 23: THE JUDGE’S HAUBERK**

He was always deemed an enigma. Judge Zargabaath, magister and commandant of the 12th Imperial fleet. A man of few words. A shadow that might have only struck one in deep sleep. Calculating, cool, his palate for neutrality spared his life. Were he quick to state his position during Gramis’ assasination, he would have shared a fate similar to Drace. She spoke too freely, too rash about her moral stand. The tongue cost her life. 

But now was one of those moments when Zargabaath had the gusto to speak. It was a rare occasion that called for it. Archadia—his empire, his master—was tottering on the brink of disarray. The scales had tipped in favor of a nameless oppressor. He had seen two Solidor emperors fall, and he could not bear to see a third. Not especially when the third was one worthy of rule. 

In the bosom of the Fortress, no one could hear you scream. The walls were thick and plastered with echoless rocks. No one could witness a murder, for the darkness would have cloaked it all. Here, shadows were welcome. Here, Zargabaath was master.

“Let us make this easier for the both of us,” the magister said. “Speak.”

Grahm seemed mute, under a silence spell that had never worn off. His bloodshot eyes were taut with resolution, but Zargabaath could see he was cracking. The plumed soldier’s shackles were clinking in fear. The tips of his fingers were purple and icy. 

Zargabaath grabbed Grahm’s cuffs and slammed it onto the table between them. A silver blur came streaking down, impaling the traitor’s hand. Grahm stifled a scream, as his pride dictated. There were tears in his eyes now. “You pledged mercy.” 

“This is mercy,” replied the magister. “Would you rather have the noose?” 

The soldier shook his head. 

“Now tell me,” Zargabaath began anew. “Tell me who gave the order.” 

“Senator Granch.” 

It was more than Zargabaath had feared. The name sent goose-bumps running up and down his skin. He wasn’t frightened because it was unexpected, but because it affirmed his greatest suspicion. Were he there to strike down Granch earlier, this whole ordeal could have been averted. “What was his motive?” 

“The Solidors—they cannot rule forever. Emperor Larsa, especially, has threatened our way of life.” 

Zargabaath clenced a fist. 

Grahm grimaced. “Surely you too do not agree with all of the emperor’s plans. His liberal ideologies threaten the very core of this society. The centuries of tradition Archadia has upheld shall be put for naught.”

Zargabaath crossed his arms. “Ideas are perilous, truly. Granch favors tradition because he himself benefits, and no one else.”

“The beast has more than one head. You only see its front.”

“Who conspires with the senator?” Zargabaath leaned in, but Granch spat on his visor.  
The plumed soldier smiled, exposing his bloody teeth. “Many a prince from far away. An ally, a foe. We are not the only falsities in this endeavor. There are fools playing soldiers, and soldiers playing fools.” 

Anger surged within Zargabaath. “You will be defeated.” He grabbed the dagger and twisted it. Skin and bones gave way in Grahm’s hand. The soldier let loose a blood-curdling scream. 

Grahm broke out into a pained cackle. “Hah! And yet here we are, are we not? We cannot even say if Larsa is to make it through the night. After two hundred years, the Solidors shall be cast away.” 

“Let the gods decide his fate. I will decide yours!” Zargabaath growled, gripping Grahm’s chainmail. 

By the shoulders, the magister raised Grahm high. The soldier’s ligaments tore away from the blade, and his hand split down in half. Grahm wailed and roared as he was tossed oveherhead. Zargabaath bashed him against a wall. There was a thud, and nothing more. The stones echoed no dying screams. 

An hour later, the remaining plumed soldiers were brought to the garden of the Peace Tree. There, a makeshift gallows was set-up. Upon a gangly frame rested three thick nooses. The soldiers were lined, and made to march. Three at a time were they positioned upon the rostrum. Three at a time were they hanged. 

“The mercy of a swift death,” Zargabaath declared. “In the name of his excellency, Larsa Ferrinas Solidor, and on the basis of treason and regicide, you are to be executed! Faram, show them mercy in the life to come.” 

The squares below them sprung open. Legs dropped through the wood. Feet struggled. Convulsed. Froze. Rotated lifelessly.

The mass of soldiers grew thick around the gallows. Metal faces watched the spectacle in silence. Out of nowhere, the sea of silver shuddered and split. A man donned in Landisian armor pushed through the crowd. Behind him, a humanoid figure follow close. 

“Zargabaath, halt!” It was Basch.

“Hang them,” Zargabaath ordered the soldiers coolly. 

“Yes, my lord!” An imperial guard reached for the lever, but halted as Basch glared at the subordinate. 

Basch made a downward sweeping motion with his arm. “You do not have the authority to pass judgment! I am commander of the fortress! Your place is alongside our emperor.”

Zargabaath marched forward. “You are an outrage, no truer than these traitors. Guards, bring him here.”

A group of swordsmen surrounded Basch, but their hands were still on the hilts. No man would dare raise his sword at a commander. 

“No! Stay your blade!” Basch thundered. 

The soldiers exclaimed conflicted looks. They did not know whom to follow. 

“Behold, Basch fon Ronsenburg, traitor of Dalmasca, the Kingslayer, hidden under Gabranth’s hide! Yet our emperor—he called out your name…What role has he played in your deception?” 

“Our master has no part in this. I am Gabranth, in honor and in defame!” 

“You are no magister. You are an enemy of Archadia!” Zargabaath faced the crowd of Imperials. “For ten years, he has been scheming and devising tactics to uproot the empire. For all we know, he is a figure in Emperor Larsa’s assassination.”

“You saw me, Zargabaath! I fought to protect his Excellency!” 

“We cannot accept you to serve.” 

Basch thought he would have been liberated once the world recognized his true identity. Yet here he was, naked in his own name, judged and hated by his own men. 

The soldiers gained their positions upon the circle now, closing in with great rapidity. Their blades were unsheathed, and ready to strike. Basch had no choice but to unleash his own. Instead of directing his sword to them, he pointed it at his fellow magister. “Leave them out of this, Zargabaath. This issue belongs between two men, and two alone. Laegd.”

Laegd understood his master’s sentiments. The anglerfish bowed lowly, and separated himself a good distance between them. 

Zargabaath jumped off the platform and sent Imperials shrinking aside. He drew out his bludgeoning primary and his secondary arm. Crossing it over his head, Zargabaath conjured a dark, umber flurry. His cape rattled and snapped as wind funneled out of the spell. The sound of a tempest brewed. 

Basch, too, prepared his attack. Tournesol shone with a passionate glow. Its fire coiled and flared around the weapon, creating a flaming basket hilt around the man’s forearms. “Grah!” the Landisian grunted, lunging forward. 

“Stop, stop!” shrilled a voice. “Enough of this senseless violence!” 

Before the two magisters could have unleashed war before the Peace Tree, Queen Ashelia came swooping in. Her presence caused the judges to shudder, lower their heads in subtle indignity, and make loose their weapons. 

“This day has seen enough deaths!” Ashe cried, getting between the two men. She stuck her hands up, pushing both of them away. Basch staggered back, while Zargabaath held his footing. “Are you blind? This is precisely what Loemund wants—hate among us! In our futile rage, we will end up killing each other. There will be no one left to stop his attack!” 

Zargabaath spoke. “Queen Ashelia, you know well that no one is above the law, may that a ruler or a judge magister. Archadia demands death for a traitor of the Empire. Would you be another law-breaker?”

Ashe looked to Basch, and him to her. She faced Zargabaath. “I will not quarrel with you, judge magister. Indeed he has broken the law by forfeiting his true name. But I have seen great wisdom in him. I have seen his great loyalty to Larsa. Basch guided Larsa through his teenage years. Do not kill him. Please, Zargabaath. Spare him. He defended his master to what ability he could.” 

Zargabaath raised his mace at Basch. “And yet His Excellency remains vegetative. We do not know if he will last the night. Archadia will know war within her borders!” 

“Imprison him. Imprison the man. But don’t kill him!” Ashe pleaded. 

“Majesty!” Basch exclaimed as the queen got down on a knee. 

“Basch, surrender. Please.” 

“Grr…” Basch snarled, whipping away the fire from Tournesol’s magic guard. The flaming hilt disappeared, and so did the flares of its blade. He dropped the great-sword, and it landed on the ground with an echoing clang. 

“Take him away,” Zargabaath ordered. “And the beast-man!”

Imperial spearmen tried to herd Laegd into a corner, but he evaded the maneuver. Laegd hurdled over their lances using the spring of his tail. Without a moment to spare, the anglerfish ran for the battlements and launched himself over the wall. He leapt into the raging waters, and disappeared in a spray of white foam.  
“Coward. Search for him!” Zargabaath ordered. A line of archers scoured the battlements. 

“And you, Captain Ronsenburg—to the tower with you. I feel you will find it a place most familiar,” Zargabaath said as a judge cuffed Basch’s hands. It was clunky and rusty, and smelled off a thousand years. “Her majesty words have saved you for now. You will still undergo trial, once Loemund has been dealt with.” 

Basch simply glared at Zargabaath, and kept ill eyes on him even as the captain was carted away. A walk of shame that was, to tread in traitor’s chains between men he had lead and suffered for. Each one had seen him on the battlefield. They saw how he fought and bled for Archadia. And what was the price of this service? Mockery. Imprisonment.

He trudged past Ashe, gazing at her in hopes of evoking some long-forgotten connection between them. Look at me, Basch begged, trying to find her eyes. But they were gone, long gone. She turned another way. Disappeared under a sea of shuddering metal heads. 

* * * * * 

On a stretcher, they rushed Larsa into the healer’s tent. White mages flocked around him. The panicked doves fluttered their hands, conjuring white tufts of magick. The power floated around him, encasing the man in a cocoon of light. The mages chanted, calling upon the curing energies of the universe. 

Ashe watched the Emperor, his face wrinkling at every wince. There were grunts of ache as the magick pushed into him. She couldn’t bear to see him in such pain. 

One mage approached her. “My queen, there’s no need to stay.”

Ashe clasped her hands together. “I want to know if he’ll be alright.”

“We’ll do our best to stabilize his health. He’s been treated with twelve X-Potions. The effect should kick in within the next hour. We cannot say, however, how much damage these men have caused to his internal system. We need to inspect his wounds.” 

Just like that they unbuckled his cuirass. Larsa groaned sharply as it was torn away from his chest. He was coughing and gurgling, and sighing hoarsely. Ashe cringed. She had never heard him hurt so. “Oh Faram,” she muttered, fingers stiffening. 

“Your Excellency, we will need to remove the tunic now,” advised one mage softly. “Excuse me now.” There was no resistance from Larsa’s side. His bloodied shirt was slit down in half and torn asunder. His pale torso was exposed, revealing horrid, gaping wounds on the belly and the side of his chest. 

Ashe placed a hand to her mouth and stifled a groan. She would have hurled, were it not for Zargabaath beside her. Too much—it was all too much! The queen forced herself to look away. She thought of things that would have snatched her from this dreaded place.

“Our emperor has a strong will. He will survive,” Zargabaath said surely. 

In no time the emperor was sedated into a gentle sleep. The surgeons came, clad in white, and unraveled their rolled-up pouches filled with scissors and needles. The barbs were threaded. The emperor was stitched up—partitions of skin were sewn together like the edges of frayed cloth.

“How could they do such a thing? What madness drove them?” Ashe asked. 

“Ideas are perilous fires. Let them loose, and they’ll spread—far and wide—into reaches of the night. The dark opposes such light. Emperor Larsa had plans for Archadia…plans that threatened the very system of the Imperial caste. The senate atop the pyramid was imperiled. They had to cut him down, somehow.” 

Ashe realized how heavy the burden must have been on Larsa. How great an empire he held, yet it was filled with terrible things. How terrible it must be to carry all his burdens alone. Dalmasca—her land—in its minutiae size bore its own greatness. Her people were generally happy, and her resource more than robust. All her actions were carried out with propriety and authenticity. She was but a clear glass sitting upon a windowpane. She was proud of Dalmasca, and she grieved for Archadia. 

An hour passed. The operation continued. White magick was infused into the surgeon’s needles, and penetrated deep into the emperor’s system. 

“My lady, it is late. You need much rest for another battle tomorrow,” advised a surgeon from the operation table. 

“How is he now?” was Ashe’s response. She sat there behind them, watching their fingers as they fidgeted with all sorts of medical contraptions. 

“Thank the gods, he is reaching a stable condition,” smiled one white mage. “But, Queen Ashe, he can’t stay here for long. He needs to get out of here. The fortress is unclean, and his wounds may get infected. He must be transported.”

Zargabaath folded his arms. “Archades is too far. Emperor Larsa’s body cannot take the trip.”

Ashe nodded. “Then…take him to Rabanastre. It is the safest city nearest from here.”

“Queen Ashelia, taking him there would be dangerous,” the magister shook his head. “Rabanastre is the cradle of all Anti-Archadian sentiments. Who knows how many haters lie in wait.”

“Then I will see him to the place,” Ashe said resolutely. “He will rest until he is well enough to travel back to Archades. I will see to his healing.” 

“What of Loemund?” 

That silenced her. Here Ashe was, devoting her attention to him. She’d been blindsided. It was another blow in favor of Loemund. At once her mind started racing, thinking of links between the senate and the King of the Sea. Of course it was bogus. Both enemies wanted Larsa dead. Of course there was no connection, but somehow it was if the gods had stringed it that way to make sense. 

“And you would have me choose?” she asked. “Between the king, and the emperor?”


	24. [NOTICE OF CONTINUATION]

Greetings, everyone!

Airbendergal here. I know it's been a long time since I've updated the story. I just want to let everyone know, with great pleasure, that I'll be continuing the story, King of the Sea. The last few months have been taking a toll on my commitment to fanfic writing, since I had to hustle for both school and my other freelance projects. Can't stay in the world of make-believe for too long. It's an endless void. I'm happy to announce that I've been embarking on some major projects in the real world, doing research on family, world socio-economics and poverty-working with some international clients, and am even in the process of publishing my own YA sci-fi/fantasy novel in the next coming months. But I would never turn away from this because I know it's important for the fandom too.

So in simple terms, [I'M BACK BITCHES]. You'll see more of the story soon.

Cheers!


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